Log 51: And Your Origins Are?
For someone who's just arrived at Hakuna Matata, I imagine that it's rather confusing to figure out my position at the hostel. Part of this confusion likely comes from the fact that I live in the room where the people doing work-stay sleep, but I do not work for the hostel. Another piece of the puzzle is that sometimes when someone new checks into the hostel, I happen to be the only person around, so I answer their questions, show them around, and occasionally get them extra towels/bedding as needed. One girl named Zara, from Berlin, was a recipient of one of my hostel tours. “Are you checking in?” I asked as she walked into the kitchen with a large suitcase. I took her to the Surf room, unlocked the door (I only know the code because it's the room I used to stay in), and walked her through the amenities the hostel provides.
The following morning, another woman, was wondering out loud about the checkout procedures at the hostel. More specifically, since her flight was late at night, she wanted to know if she could leave her suitcase at the hostel while she went out for a few daytime excursions.
“Oh, Taylor can tell you, she works here!” Zara informed the woman. I looked up from the oatmeal I was focused on scarfing down before I had to leave for work. “No, I don't,” I said between bites. “I work at the shave ice shop, Ululani's. But yeah, you can leave your stuff here, it's fine.” The woman thanked me and tentatively dropped her bags. Zara looked super confused, but didn't push the issue further.
Aside from the confusion surrounding my occupational status at Hakuna Matata, it's also come to my attention that for many, there's a shroud of mystery around my ethnic background as well. In the past two weeks, I think I've been asked my race by seven or eight different people. “People,” meaning coworkers at Ululani's, hostel guests, and complete strangers. Just today, I was answering a question for a customer at the Hyatt - she wasn't familiar with the flavor calamansi. “It's basically a cross between a lime and a tangerine,” I told her. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Okay, got it, thank you. What is your ethnic background?”
People always phrase the question differently: “If you don't mind me asking - what is your nationality?” “This might be kinda personal, but can I ask what your ethnicity is?” Most recently, a woman from Ukraine looked at me and simply said, “And, your origins are?” I'm beginning to contemplate whether it would behoove me to just make my ancestry.com results my iphone lock screen.
Highlight: Today at work, someone from the Hyatt’s poolside restaurant, Umalu, brought me and my coworkers a platter of chicken fingers with guava BBQ sauce and liliko’i honey mustard, as well as a box of teriyaki fries. Maybe booking a stay at the Hyatt is worth it.
