The View from Here:
A Mermaid in L.A.

Lynne K. Fukuda
Distance Learning Specialist, University of Hawaii at Hilo
lfukuda@hawaii.edu

Everyone knows the ending to the tale of "The Little Mermaid." I know. Sad as it may be, in the version that I recall from childhood, the little mermaid becomes the sea breeze, and only in the Disney version does Ariel get married to her prince. When I spent my short, happy summer in Los Angeles, my heart felt bittersweet. I knew that when my summer school ended in August, I, like Ariel, would return to a kingdom in the middle of the sea. After all, I was a Hawaiian mermaid.

I love Los Angeles; it is certainly a city of angels and saints. I love how the Spanish words rolled off my tongue -- San Gabriel, Santa Ana, Santa Monica, Santa Catalina. I heard the melodies of the people, all the while wishing I could be a part of their world in this city. In the middle of a desert -- a vast tract of land -- was the city of dreams. It was my city; the city where my wishes could come true. But like the mermaid, I would have to sacrifice something in order to join the people of this land. The mermaid lost her voice; I lost my health.

I did not realize that the clean and clear air I had breathed all my life on the Hawaiian Islands would not toughen me to the smog and black exhaust fumes that patiently remained in a cloud over the city. I wiped the black, sooty material off the windows of my apartment and off the screens that kept the bugs out. I choked and coughed and spent sleepless nights in spasms. I began to suffer from migraines. Yet I so wanted to remain. I was dazzled by the lure of the city. In the midst of the "old" on Olvera Street, I also saw the "new" city rising around it, as if to say the past is the past, and we must plunge into the future. Was my future in the depths of the sea where my mermaid friends remained, or was my future on the land, where the dark gray soil of Los Angeles beckoned with the supernatural energy that rose up from the earth beneath it?

I saw the sea from the coast in Malibu and Santa Monica, but like the mermaid, I hesitated returning to the sea. I stared at it wistfully, wanting to join the creatures of the ocean. I heard the call of the sea birds and the sea lions. I heard, once again, the familiar language of nature. It called to me, saying: "Come back where you will be safe." Yet I wanted to speak with the humans; I wanted to see them smile and talk. And I wondered, if in human form, could I walk amongst them and be accepted? I was not particularly pretty, and I was not particularly sociable. I would not be understood. I was shy and anti-social underneath the faŠade of normalcy. Every human encounter made me quiver.  Every gesture made me skittish. And yet I remained in this place, knowing that once I ran there would be no turning back; I would return to the sea and never come back to land. I was haunted by my past. Voices rose out of the mist above the waters. It was almost the very same mist I left at home. Wistfully, I stared into it, wanting to call out, "Take me home again, my love!" I knew that I left my loved ones behind in the kingdom of the sea.

I so wanted to join the humans, but I knew that time was running out. I was unable to breathe, unable to eat, and soon I would be unable to think. The ocean called me back. The islands called me back. I began to wonder: "Must I remain on land any longer? It is so painful." Like the mermaid who was not used to having two feet to walk on, I was not used to breathing the impure air that surrounded me and threatened me when I was awake and when I slept. When in a deep and peaceful sleep, all my dreams came true. I was able to speak as the humans did, eat as they did, and breathe as they did. But sometimes I would wake up, disoriented, in a cold sweat, shivering with nightmare after nightmare. I would wonder, "Where am I?" Then, seeing my room, I would realize that I was on land among the humans, not in my kingdom of the sea where the waters are crystal clear and the islands are covered with gentle mists. I could not breathe in the flower-scented moist air or the see the masculine surf break upon the shores.

Leaving Los Angeles, I realized that I too, like the mermaid who became the ocean breeze, transformed into the trade winds that blew over my beloved islands.  I was on an airplane, like a sea bird returning to its beloved home over the ocean. As I approached, I saw the aquamarine colors of the waters surrounding my island kingdom. I was no longer in Los Angeles; I was back on the Hawaiian Islands. And far across the sea, much missed and beloved to my heart are the angels. I wanted to see Santa Monica, Santa Ana, San Gabriel, and Santa Catalina. And like the little mermaid who became the gentle sea breeze that watches over her prince, I have in my heart the fondest memories of my beloved place in the world. Unlike the little mermaid, though, I can always return to the city of dreams and make my wishes come true.

I would again leave my ocean kingdom in the middle of the Pacific to ride with the wind and see my beloved city. I would be able to speak and breathe and, in time, I would walk amongst the humans and become accepted by them; however, when my fish scales began to show, I would hide them under my clothes so that no one would ever know I was a mermaid at heart.

THE END

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