05/08/2026
Today, I created a piece of art that feels deeply personal: a self-portrait in modern clothing, wearing a mwaar (which is depicted on the CNMI flag), set against the gray skies of Milan. This piece is more than just an image; its a reflection of my identity as a mixed Chamorro woman navigating a world that often feels isolating, marginalizing, and, at times, Kafkaesque.
Franz Kafka's work has always resonated with me, not just as a writer but as someone who understood the weight of alienation. As a Pacific Islander living abroad, I often find myself in a perpetual state of being the "exotic other." In Italy, I'm frequently met with impolite and often insulting questions about my ethnic origins, interactions that echo the microaggressions I experienced in the U.S. These moments remind me of Kafka's characters, trapped in systems that demand explanations, compliance, and justification for simply existing.
This feeling of being observed, questioned, and misunderstood is compounded by the broader erasure of Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander (NHPI) voices. During AAPI Heritage Month, this erasure becomes even more glaring. NHPI people are often lumped together with Asian-Americans under the outdated AAPI label, despite being two separate, Federally-recognized ethnic groups from entirely different continents. This grouping not only marginalizes NHPI voices but also obscures the unique struggles we face: overrepresentation in the military and incarceration, underrepresentation in media and higher education, and systemic inequities that are rarely addressed.
As an Indigenous Chamorro woman, artist, writer, combat veteran, and social worker, I've seen firsthand how these disparities play out. I've also witnessed how NHPI culture and spaces are often appropriated for social and financial capital, while our voices are silenced. Its disheartening, but its also why I continue to speak up, create, and advocate for change.
To my fellow Pacific Islanders: your voice matters. Your story matters. And to everyone else: solidarity doesn't mean erasure. It's possible to support one group without silencing another or appropriating it as your own like a costume.
