'Dear Aloha' Shows 'How We Experience Aloha in the Diaspora' at Seattle International Film Festival

Mahalo for chatting with me, Chris!

I'd love to share. I was raised until I was 7 years old in ʻAiea, but like many Hawaiians, my ʻohana had to move to the U.S. because we couldn't afford to stay. I ended up growing up in Vancouver, Washington, but a lot of my family also lived in the Seattle area. My childhood was full of big gatherings where my uncles and dad would play music and talk story — sometimes until four in the morning! We'd eat all the local food, listen to Hawaiian songs on repeat, roast a pig, and even camp outside of each other's houses. My makua are older now so they donʻt throw it down like they used to, but I've thought a lot about how those experiences saved me.

I've lived in Seattle at different parts of my life, and my sister now lives there. I travel back and forth from Oʻahu often, so I still consider it a "home." I feel so embraced by the community here and am grateful that I've become close to people doing incredible work for our diasporic community. There's a shared commitment to uplifting our stories, and being at SIFF feels like a full-circle moment for me.

When I look back on all of that, I think that's why I wanted to direct Dear Aloha — to honor our experiences as diasporic Hawaiians. How proud we are, how we carry our aloha, how we rock Seahawks hats and puffer jackets — and, like my dad, still wear slippers in the winter!

I grew up learning aloha as a social currency. My parents would often say, "They have a lot of aloha," and I knew that had value. My dad, who is Hawaiian, showed me that aloha was radical inclusivity and generosity of spirit.

I made Dear Aloha to reflect how we experience aloha in the diaspora. As I began learning more about our displacement — how we are "priced out of paradise" — I realize that aloha is also our resilience. When we feel so disconnected from ʻāina, aloha helps us feel like we can carry on as Hawaiians. It's how we are all connected.

However people define it, it is more than hello and goodbye. Its meaning is sacred and deserves to be honored any time it is used in a film. That comes when our stories are [told] through a Kanaka lens. I'd love to see mainstream media shift its understanding of what aloha really means.

I know this has been said by many wiser people before me, but it's true: Our ancestors were storytellers. A kūpuna recently told me that filmmakers are prophets, and that really stayed with me. I do think we carry a kind of privilege — to listen to our naʻau and speak to issues that empower our lāhui. Sometimes we're exploring topics just as they're beginning to surface, and we get to be part of the journey as our culture evolves.

Our diaspora — our displacement — is one of those topics. It's becoming more and more important to talk about. Even though it's been around for generations.

I can't even begin to share what people's response to this film has meant to me. I've hugged and carried every story, and it's not lost on me when someone feels some type of way after watching it. Sometimes, all people want to do when they see me after a screening is just hug for a really long time. There are no words, just an understanding. I get so emotional just writing this!

In recent years, I've been so excited to see contemporary Native stories hit mainstream media. It always feels so good to see that, because we all win with every Indigenous story. I do love how New Zealand cinema has so many contemporary heartwarming stories (like Tinā, which Dear Aloha screens with!), and we have stories like Reservation Dogs, North of North, and anything Taika Waititi is doing.

I would love to see more of the diaspora in our stories told by diasporic people because this is the modern-day Hawaiian story. More Hawaiians live away from Hawaiʻi, so this is the majority of our experience. 

I also would love to see more Hawaiian comedies. Hawaiians are SO funny! My stomach hurts from laughing just listening to my dad and uncles talk story.

It gets me so excited when I see Pacific Islander stories made by a crew and cast that are also PI. I hope this becomes more common.

The most thrilling and hopeful thing is seeing more films made by fully or majority Indigenous production teams. I also love to see connections happening with our Native ʻohana from Moku Honu and our Pacific Islanders. We recently had the privilege of screening Dear Aloha at Duwamish Longhouse, and this was so special to me. It is an experience I will carry with me forever. Our ancestors were in the room together, and that energy was surreal. I hope we have more connections in the future, because the Pacific Northwest has a lot of Native presence that keeps growing, and our Pacific Islander diaspora brings more of us here.

Washington State has the second-largest population of diasporic Hawaiians in the country. Pacific Islanders are the fastest-growing community in the United States. We need these stories to feel seen. When we are thousands of miles away from our homeland, having films we cannot always access — helps connect us. Having our films in such a big festival like SIFF is so important because it strengthens our community.

If anyone would like a hug or talk story, come to the Dear Aloha screening at SIFF— we will be playing with the beautiful film Tinā that every Pacific Islander needs to see. It's going to be a good time.