I am sorry I am not posting pictures of this event, but I felt like the snapping of my camera might be disrespectful. I did take two that evening that were nothing special:
Earlier in the day, I found myself floating in Tumon Bay. Two Lover's Point was in the distance. The legend tells of two natives who tied their hair together and jumped off it into the sea. I, not wishing to ponder such melancholy, sat lackadaisically, admiring the green coral, the sea slugs, the interesting colored fish, unaware of the parts of my skin I forgot to put sunscreen burning away. The day was beautiful. The Japanese girls buxom. The beach lined with hotels (half of which my great uncle designed). There were many chapels. In fact, I will probably be hung up on some poor Japanese couple's wall--I was in the distance on a kayak as their photos were being taken. An old gunning station sat on the beach in the form of a rock. It was where the Japanese soldiers peeped through looking for Americans. I floated, thinking about how 70 years ago the people on the beach would have been firing bullets at me, mortal enemies. History heals all wounds apparently.
It is to my embarrassment that I don't know how to swim. The water in Tumon Baby is shallow, sure, but my uncle felt I should learn. He gave me a snorkel and goggles. However, not thinking things through, I breathed with my nose, taking in a heavy dose of salt water. I survived for a few minutes longer, but let another drip of the sea hit my eye. By the time I got back to the truck, I was a real mess. Snot was pouring profusely. My eyes burned. My arms and legs were ready to turn red. I was a typical 'haole'--the islander slang for white American--or a 'stupid idiot' in the parlance of our age. Driving back to Agana Heights, I was not a little bit ashamed, but also proud of my first real experience in the ocean. Later that evening, I was to see Prometheus. An interesting film (and one I will cover in a later blog), but nothing could be as surreal as kayaking on the ocean. It is something I never could have imagined myself doing. It was glorious, awesome, and all those stupid sentimental words that make you hate the writer. It is an experience I hope to repeat often before I leave. It is also one I hope to never forget.
On Sunday, we attended Rob's concert.
As you will notice in the videos I will post, there is this annoying man who sat in front of me. There is one tall person on Guam, and I had the unfortunate pleasure of sitting behind him. I wouldn't care so much, but he moved all the time--if you are tall, don't do that! I feel like Theon on episode 210 of Game of Thrones complaining about the horn blower, but seriously, don't do that!
I wrote a little section for my time at the concert that evening. I am thinking of writing a book of my stay here.
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Around 2:20 pm, we packed into the car to see Rob's concert. The church was up the street. It was large and white, with life-size figures of Jesus, Mary, and the disciples on the walls. The windows were slanted to face the podium. I imagine it was to shine a light on our great judge, father, who's servant would be sitting up there to lecture.
But this was a concert led by a little old man. He was white, looked about 100 years-old, and did not command the sort of speaking voice I expected from wise sage like him. Yes, he was kind, sweet, and the perfect conductor. But his voice was small-- I like my old men confidant about their oldness.
I followed my relatives in, sat down after ignoring a vat of holy water I almost placed my hand in on the way out, and soon Aunt Martha's sister Pauline and her children lined the rows behind us. The concert started and the horns blared. It was not the train wreck like many of the bands I have heard back in Montana; however, it was in this moment that I realized that I was behind the tallest man in Guam. Guamanians are not big people. My great uncle claimed it was because they bred with the Spanish, and the Spanish were short, but this 'haole', sitting in front of me, was tall. And not in a I-know-I-am-tall-so-I-am-going-to-be-respectful-and-not-move-around-the-whole-damn-concert tall, but the I-am-tall-and-uncomfortable-sort-who-will-interfear-with-your-line-of-vision-every-few-minutes kinda tall. I hated that man. When he lifted his camera I tried to direct my mind to it and make the insides melt. When he moved around I tried to prevent myself from audibly sighing, but damn if this man didn't deserve it. On top of this, he had a weird bump on his head and kept rubbing his facial hair and leaning over and onto the arm of the bench-- why? why didn't you just leave if you were so uncomfortable sitting there? Didn't you realize you were tall and there was somebody sitting behind you? Did you care or did you think you owned the world? I hated this man. I hated this man.
During the concert and despite my annoyance, my attention constantly drifted towards a pretty violin player. Her hair was sort of greasy, and her nose kind of big, and I think she must have caught me staring at her a few times because soon I noticed her looking at me. I felt awkward, so I stopped. She was a member of the San Francisco Quartet. Together with a well-spoken short man, another pretty girl, and one of the coolest looking dudes I have ever seen, they jammed out "Bohemian Rhapsody" on their string instruments. Granted, that's a rather odd choice to be playing in a church. I mean, Beelzebub is mentioned right? But the most idiosyncratic performance was to come. A black man with an American accent walked up on stage, and behind him a group of Japanese singers lined up. And then someone rolled out a small disabled woman in a wheel chair. The man wowed the audience with his words. Owning the stage, walking back and forth, he would shout "God!" when the audience looked bored. I do not know the history of the group, but never had I seen Japanese people sing in a gospel band before. And they were good! The man's voice was husky, bluesy, deadly-- he made you feel something in your gut, not in your head. According to him, many of the singers on stage had lost someone when the 2011 tsunami hit Japan. The songs were an account of their spiritual journey afterwards. And the whole time, the disabled woman was there, singing along. He finally mentioned her-- that his little sister was going to sing--
A part of me was expecting a miracle. If she was to solo, I bet she sounded like an angel. That I would be moved to tears. That I would be blessed to hear such sweet music. They brought the microphone to her lips. The audience waited in anticipation-- what was going to happen?-- She screamed into the microphone. "He hold my hand!" I felt a laugh building in my throat, but I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop. It was one of most difficult moments of my life, sitting behind the tallest man on Guam, hearing the poor girl sing. Everything told me that this was one of the most hysterical things I had ever seen, that this story would be told for ages to come-- the howling girl in a wheel chair. It was killing me. I wanted to excuse myself to go to the bathroom in peace. But this was the train wreck I wasn't expecting. If anyone around me so much chuckled I was going to lose it. "He holld my hand!" she yelled in time with the bells. She stopped for a moment and people clapped. I clapped. The place was in an uproar over this thing that should have never happened. And she continued. I wanted her to stop. It was too much pressure. Finally, the head man took the microphone from her, began his soulful singing again, and I was relieved.
Finally, Rob came up on stage without about 30 or 40 other people. They were quite good, but the grand finale was outstanding. Everyone came back up on stage and belted out "The Saints Go Marching In", and then after that, "From Sea to Shining Sea". It was a wall of sound, truly glorious. My camera was out, recording the whole thing, but unfortunately, I had placed it on mute accidentally. Now that sweet sound has to remain in my head, where many other things are buried away, never to be rediscovered. After the concert, I strolled outside and stood there. I eventually congratulated Rob on the good work he had done. He appeared to be reliving the moment in his head, his face aglow with his music. Just having met the guy a week ago, I was already feeling proud of him.
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I love exploring. The other day I walked down to a park near where I am staying. Here are a few pictures I took. It had just rained, so the ground swelled with puddles. Apparently all the water causes the ground to steam--what a fool I was assuming it would be cooler after a rain shower.
These last few pictures were taken on the patio outside my house during the rain storm:
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