The Morning and Evening Star
A Journal of Thought and Ideas Fall 2010
Cover art, ―Sunset‖ by Jordan Forte
The opinions expressed in the Hokuloa are the work of the authors and artists alone and
do not represent the views of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day saints, Brigham
Young University-Hawaii, or the editors.
Copyright C 2010 BYU-Hawaii Honors Program. Copyright for individual work is
retained by the individual authors and artists.
The Morning and Evening Star
The Honors Journal of Thought and Ideas
Faculty Editorial board
The Hokuloa is a journal of thought; its name is a
Hawaiian word for The Morning and Evening Star, or Ve-
nus, which ancient Hawaiians looked to as a guide. As the
journal bears this name, it is the goal of the Hokuloa to pub-
lish intellectual ideas and thoughts that one can look to for
inspiration and leadership.
The following are an original collection of short es-
says, poems, and photographs submitted by students of BYU
-Hawaii. It is our hope that the thoughts of these students
will spark deeper thoughts by those who read, and that those
thoughts may turn into conversations to bring change. Per-
haps the challenge will only be in the mind of one person; if
so, our journal will have achieved its purpose as a guide for
free thinking and higher learning. The philosopher Rene
Descartes once said, cogito ergo sum—I think, therefore I
am. As members of the Honors Program and the editorial
staff of Hokuloa, we offer you the thoughts of students be-
cause we believe that as people, we think, therefore we are.
Makemson, Maud W. ―Hawaiian Astronomical Concepts II.‖ American Anthro-
pologist, New Series. 41 (4): 589-596. Blackwell Publishing. June 20, 2008
Table of Contents
1 Rachel Wynder Shrinking Universe
2 Ashley Oborn Share
4 Kara Orr Discrimination. Not Okay
10 Mariah Hunt The Conflict of Question
16 Sara Bezdjian Hamlet
19 Taylor Rippy Land of Legend
8 Jeanelle Hollenbaugh Divine Fingertips
9 Annette Campbell Shrinking Universe
17 Stephanie Bravo Distortion
18 E.j. Hernandez From This School
3 Jordan Forte Nature
7 Danica Contor Salutations
9 Annette Campbell Laie Temple
13 Sara Bezdjian Untitled
14 Jordan Forte Butterfly
16 Jordan Forte Beach
18 Taylor Rippy Untitled
One night after attending a church conference in my stake, my spirit was
lifted and I was anxious to contain the joy in my heart. I went into my
bedroom and knelt to praise God for all the blessings that He pours from
heaven. I thanked God that I was privileged to be here on earth and I
thanked Him for allowing us to speak to Him through prayer. As I
thanked God, I had the sudden inclination to pray for my friends. So I
prayed for my friends and then for the people in my community. I prayed
that missionary work would reach out to them. While I prayed for them,
my mind opened and I saw people from all around the world. I saw a
woman from India and God helped me understand that this woman was
my sister. I saw an old man from Iceland and I knew that he was my
brother. I saw a child from Namibia and he too was a child of God. I
suddenly understood that everyone in the world was related to me because
every one was a child of God. When I comprehended this, I felt a love
for each and every one of them and I wanted them all to return to Heav-
enly Father so we could all be together again. For me the universe shrank
when God permitted me to experience a minuscule portion of His love for
us His children. So it was that night I discovered that every breathing be-
ing was my brother and my sister.
We have been given a gentle, precious gift and we rely on it as much as it
relies on us.
I have been made increasingly aware of our duty as children of our Heav-
enly Father that we must be ―stewards‖ of the earth. As I attend school
here at BYU Hawaii I ask myself often what I am doing to be a steward-
am I recycling? Am I limiting my carbon footprint? Am I doing my part
to take care of the Earth?
In the recent past I have seen so many ―green‖ movements come about.
More and more people are turning their hearts to nature and becoming
friends with their environment. We have done so much damage to our
life-giving orb and now we are scaling the peak of destruction - our natu-
ral resources have been heavily depleted and we are in an arms race over
who can create the most eco-friendly tools. It is somewhat refreshing to
see so many companies trying to help the environment that they have
taken their part in demolishing, but it is heartbreaking that have we
reached this point. Are our technologies worth the loss of nature? It is
not that we must acquire the tools to live environmentally friendly - we
must first obtain consciousness of the importance of that friendship. It‘s
all in a matter of proactive perspective. If we start with small and simple
deeds - turning the water off as we brush our teeth, recycling our milk
jugs, picking up that broken bottle on the beach - our consciousness will
grow little by little. Soon we will realize we need a healthy connection to
nature to live a happy life, and the way to start is by sharing and making
friends with the Earth.
Discrimination. Not Okay.
My background and opinions: if I‘m white and don't have an ac-
cent, I MUST be one of those Americans. People automatically assume
that my ancestral ties are somehow linked to every death and brutality
known to man because I am so obviously American. Talk about being
I am an LDS female American; clarification, I am an LDS female
Dutch American mixed with a WIDE variety of other nationalities.
Being a female in a generation where being called a "sexy b****"
is a form of flattery is hard.
Being a Mormon with all the uproar having to do with homosexu-
ality is hard.
Living in a state where many locals hold ill feelings towards
Americans for the many wrongs done to them is hard.
I am me, I am of worth, and I should not have to live by these ri-
diculous images that people hold of me.
More often than not, when turning on the radio, all the newest hip-
hop songs refer to women with words that once upon a time were exces-
sively degrading. I am constantly shocked as I listen to the lyrics and
many are actually singing about how they love the girl that they are refer-
ring to in such terms. Not only are songs referring to women inappropri-
ately through these ‗pet names,‘ but the reasons they list for loving them
are superficial; constantly referring to the sexiness of their bodies and the
way they move that body suggestively. I dance the robot more often than
not; -50 points on their defined score of sexiness. I‘m not a stick with a
chest; -100. I dress modestly; that just kicked me to the curb.
Through my life I have had many friends. Kelsey, Anna, Whitney,
Sammee, Pono, Hallie, Ricky, Pedro… I could go on forever, all of which
were Americans, but with various differences in lineage from my own.
All of these friends I hold dear to my life. I have never seen any differ-
ence between us, they are merely people that love and care about me. I
also have many friends that hold various views and orientations of sexual-
ity; they are nonetheless the still great friends I've always seen them to be.
So why is it, I have to fear for my grades, my safety, my life? All for the
color of my skin.
In a math class last year, I was told I would fail because I was a
white American and as a white American I would think myself too good
to actually do the work. I was told on a regular basis how as an American
I held myself in much higher esteem than my other classmates and should
not be so discriminating and ―condescending,‖ even though none of us
―white kids‖ ever said a word to back that statement. I kept track of my
grades online and felt good as I sat in the higher percentage of my class
knowing that I would prove this professor wrong about all Americans be-
ing lazy. After all my assignments were done I sat at a marvelous 94, but
when I got my final grades for the classes, somehow I got an 87. I was
marked down because of "participation points."
I can recall very distinctly answering questions in class on many
occasions, doing problems on the board, turning in all homework. My at-
tendance wasn‘t perfect, but not enough to drop me that much. The pro-
fessor gave us opportunities to redeem our tardies, but many times I
would opt out on not cleaning the white board, it didn‘t prove anything to
me about the importance of being on time. If I was marked down for atti-
tude, I would invite that professor to take a class, for a whole semester,
where that professor is constantly bombarded on being so selfish and stu-
pid, and do it with a smile. We all have our off days anyway; mine just
seemed to occur when I walked through that classroom door. I know I am
not the only student with that professor who longed to defend ourselves; I
watched class after class as we suffered subjection and my peers and I
squirmed in our seats. I recall one of my peers never really returning after
asking an honest question and being laughed at and told that on the inside
he screamed white although on the outside he looked another ethnicity.
Many of the wrongs done to people of other countries by Ameri-
cans that I am constantly being convicted of happened before 1900. My
family came to America AFTER 1900, and yet I still am labeled with
what happened before that time. There are some Hawaiians that look
down on me for my fair skin and put on me the burden of guilt for the
death and oppressions of their ancestors. The official annexation of Ha-
waii was in 1898, and all the other acts that went along with that deemed
unfair happened before that date. Yet, as I set out to explore and truly un-
derstand the beauty that is Hawaii, I walk by signs such as "if you are not
blood, you will bleed." and "filthy whites, stole our land and lives, we
should repay the favor."
The first settlers that settled America were definitely settling be-
fore 1900 and the countries most tied with that are Spain, France, and
England. Where I come from, we live next to a reservation and part of
our paychecks go to the Native Americans to settle the past damages;
they have for a long time. I‘ve often wondered why we are still paying
today and have often been met with the answer that there is not enough
money in the world that will right the wrong, and I still ask then, why are
we trying if it will get us nowhere?
As for slavery, my ancestors were so dirt poor they had to borrow
money from the Queen of Holland to come to America. They wouldn't
have been able to afford slave labor and they weren't wealthy enough to
associate with those that could afford it.
My Dutch background has set an example to me. Anybody know
where Friesland, Holland is? Oh yeah that's right, you probably wouldn't
because it was overrun too, and the country completely collapsed. Sound
familiar? In World War II, Holland was overrun by the German army and
the Queen was driven from the throne. It was not a Jewish country; there
were Jews and non Jews. But any person that defended or hid Jews was
sent to concentration camps with the Jews. Anybody hear of Corrie Ten
Boom? She is my hero. She was persecuted, struggled, lived, and for-
gave. She lost family, friends, self-worth in concentration camps. In her
book, The Hiding Place, near the end, she recounts her experiences after
the war. She went to church one sunny day and came across an officer
that had beaten her, spit in her face, and displayed many other forms of
brutality towards Corrie. Fear struck her heart along with anger, but then
she just realized it was right to forgive. And she HUGGED that officer.
What greater show of forgiveness could be portrayed?! She is my hero
for her example.
So why was she able to forgive her direct oppressor as the op-
pressed while as descendants from many horrible acts many, many gen-
erations later, we cannot forgive each other and get along? I wish I knew.
I know this essay will probably invoke some negative emotions at first
read, but I plead that you sit back and really think and that if you‘re still
angered you justify your reasoning. The world is definitely less defined
by countries as we all intermingle along the shores and lands of all conti-
nents. We have to learn to live harmoniously with each other because we
are all living together, now more than ever.
I am here to learn about culture to increase awareness and accep-
tance, not to force my ―overbearing American culture‖ on others, but
somehow I can‘t avoid the stereotypes.
My name is Kara. I do not discriminate. I do not humiliate. I do
not hate. I love. What do YOU do?
Salutations Danica Contor
A field of tulips paints so kind
a stemless dream inside my mind.
The glowing shades of purple light
e'er tempt my soul to leave behind
my greatest golds for this soft sight,
to flee from home quite late at night
and catch the sun 'fore sky can bind.
With toes tucked into petaled grass,
I marvel down on lilac glass.
Perfumes o'ercome my senses sweet:
no balm I've known that can surpass.
Celestial palms uphold my feet.
My soles hold so divine a beat.
God, I and Nature here amass.
And while we stand here all combined,
my wandering thoughts have since refined
and taken no harsh detour slight,
so here the picture sits. Alas,
a monument to lilac glass.
My dream of worlds blooms now so kind.
See, Heaven's sight can heal the blind.
Hold on keep up don't falter
Stay strong be bold
Keep the faith when everything seem to fail
Shrink not to things that are True
Be the example attend the Temple
Remember , Remember, Remember
Shrink not to things that are true
Laie Temple Annette Campbell
The Conflict of Question
I was recumbent, beneath the transparent leaves of a sycamore
tree. This was the same sycamore tree that lined the streets of the beauti-
ful neighborhood that my sister and I had intruded. The houses here were
designed in the 1940s – the ―fab-forties‖ is what the neighborhood is
dubbed – and are now replete with BMWs and a second coat of whatever
house-paint is now in vogue. We like this neighborhood; we can drive
down the streets and fantasize about living inside the large, elegant boxes.
In the center of this neighborhood is a small playground, safe for Sacra-
mento, probably due to the sturdy gate surrounding the small, leaved area.
The gate makes the park feel as though it‘s meant for the people who
somehow manage to pay for these beautiful houses. But more impor-
tantly, it ensures that my sister‘s two young boys won‘t have a chance to
escape and that my sister and I can feel as though we are indeed intruding.
It was a clear and bright day; in fact it was the day before I left for
Hawai'i to continue school. My sister and I talked about her eldest, Logan,
while we both tried to prevent her youngest from putting anything of
question into her 9-month-old mouth. These seemingly small affairs are
what occupy my sister's day, and occupied she certainly is. I often play
the role of intruder with my sister; I intrude on her daily actions and very
personally interpret them to represent my own potential actions. She is the
representative of young-Mormon-motherhood for me. She might as well
wear a name tag of some sort. She graduated with honors but she has de-
cided to devote herself to her family. She stays at home while her husband
works at his father‘s pest control company and goes to school at night.
Elizabeth, of course, has no say in which of her actions represent
motherhood to me; they are simply the ones that reflect my preconceived
notions or insecurities. When she is sad, motherhood is sad; when she so
lovingly teaches her child something new, this is what all mothers do. She
does not have an occupation other than motherhood and therefore there
can be no other means of occupation when a mother. She is what I will be
when I am a mother. Or at least it seems that way.
My sister is eight years older than I am, and I often feel as though
she has forgotten what it is to be my age. She is frequently frustrated by
my habits, clothing, musical preferences, and mostly that any number of
these things might be preventing me from dating. She lovingly seems to
know that I will get married, that I will be a mother and that I will be like
she is. It's just a matter of time and maturity. As if time actually provoked
that thing called maturity. Elizabeth, Liz, is taller than me, she dyes her
red hair blonde and wears make-up. She wears ―flattering‖ clothing, runs
after her kids in four-inch heels, and her husband thinks she's ―hot.‖ She
is beautiful and a wonderful mother. She and I are different, but she some-
times forgets this, and I suppose I often do too. Liz graduated from col-
lege when she was 24; she waved to her husband and nine-month-old
baby in the stands when she walked in her cap and gown and colorful
sashes to receive her diploma. I am 21, the age Liz was when she was
married; I will graduate in a little more than a year.
One night we were in my parent's kitchen, idly cleaning whatever
was left in the sink. I began to lament about the confusion that is involved
in deciding my future in response to some question on her part.
―I'd like to do journalism, but I've never really worked for a paper.
. . I really like my major, but I don't feel like it's preparing me for work,
you know? I don't feel trained for anything. I guess I'll probably go to
grad school and figure it out.‖
Elizabeth looked irritated, pursed her lips, cocked her eyebrows,
let her hands drop from the dishes she was doing and kind of tilted her
head the way she always does when she knows that what I'm saying is
ridiculous and short sighted.
―I don't know, Mariah.‖
But she did know.
―You should probably just pick something you would be good at
like interior design or piano lessons and just do that.‖ She paused. ―You
probably shouldn't be somewhere that you can't find a boyfriend.‖ Her
voice was sounding particularly agitated, kind of weak, like it does some-
times before you're going to cry.
―You're not going to have time to do something like journalism
when you have kids,‖ she said.
I was confused by her reaction and attempted to explain some sort
of unworked plan to somehow mix the two important endeavors of moth-
erhood and education.
She interrupted me with a slight scoff, and then my mother inter-
vened. Shortly thereafter the subject was changed.
My sister and I are so much different, but we're also the same.
We're both meant to be mothers, and I feel nothing but guilt when I ac-
knowledge that this designation isn't something I might choose without
the influence of my religion. In fact, I‘m openly avoiding the possibility
of this calling at the moment. This is a calling that has been decided by a
loving prophet and God himself, and yet I inherently underestimate its
importance. I fantasize about academic aspirations, that if I follow this
God given path, are almost impossible to achieve.
My sister was probably trying to tell me this, and I knew she was
right. However, my sister‘s reaction to my disregard so perfectly repre-
sented a fear of my own. She did not simply inform me that my duties
were elsewhere, that I will be a mother and that that will make me happier
than any degree or position could. She sounded insecure, frustrated, and
authoritative: ―you have to do this, because this is what I do,‖ in so many
words. This was probably far from her thoughts, but right now her
thoughts were mine; my insecurities her flushed cheeks and frustration; I
had intruded once again. Her reaction seemed to thinly veil that insecu-
rity. It was now what every mother‘s reaction would be, or really what
mine might be: one of doubt.
I got up from my recumbent view of the soft green leaves and
walked to the side of the park where there was a large stone wall separat-
ing the park from a cemetery. The kids and my sister met me there. Eliza-
beth looked really lovely that day, holding her new little girl who has her
same wispy, strawberry hair. She was standing without shoes on the grass
and smiling. She told the two eager boys about the old castle on the other
side of the wall, which they couldn't see, and that they would have to
imagine. We then raced around the inside of the park until we couldn't run
any longer, packed up our things, and drove home.
Kenneth Branagh‘s Hamlet, released in 1996, is an epic that ex-
plicitly proves Branagh‘s skill in the realm of Shakespeare not only as an
actor but also as an interpreter and a director. As an accomplished veteran
of Shakespeare, Branagh had performed the stage production of Hamlet
over 200 times before filming his full-length version. This gave him fore-
knowledge and experience to make Hamlet his own. Filmed in 70 mm,
this colorful and grandiose work features an all-star cast and is an accu-
rate presentation of Shakespeare‘s classic.
One of the first scenes is Claudius‘ wedding announcement to the
court. The slim figure of Hamlet dressed in black juxtaposes the colorful
clothes of the nobles and the nuptial dress of Hamlet‘s mother [and mar-
tial suit of his uncle]. The camera watches the two newlyweds prance
down the hall from behind the thrones, or in Hamlet‘s point of view. The
confetti falling and then Hamlet‘s first soliloquy in the empty room are
moving. Branagh varies between soft words and yelling, which perfectly
shows Hamlet‘s agitated state of mind.
Branagh is excellent at meshing flashbacks and simultaneous
events to the present action. The shots cutting to Fortinbras are great be-
cause we have a visual connection before Fortinbras physically shows up
to Elsinore. The scene of Hamlet‘s interaction with the Ghost is also done
especially well. We hear the whisperings of the Ghost in voice over while
we see Claudius murdering King Hamlet in his garden. Another example
of Branagh‘s flashbacks is his decision to make the last lines of Hamlet‘s
love letter to Ophelia in live action. We see Hamlet saying to his lover,
―O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers‖ which helps us understand the
depth of their relationship in just a few minutes of screen time.
The setting of the castle is perfect for Hamlet. It features many
secret passageways, two-way mirrors, and a beautiful checkered floor.
The main hall is ideal for Hamlet‘s third soliloquy, his famous ―to be or
not to be‖ speech. With Polonius and Claudius listening behind a mirror,
Hamlet gives this speech, literally to himself, in one of the mirrors. Then
after he drags Ophelia to all the mirrors, he pushes her face up against the
mirror (possibly) unknowingly to the view of Polonius and Claudius. The
uncomfortable, resonant image of Ophelia against the glass really shows
Hamlet‘s descent into violence. After Hamlet‘s murder of Polonius,
Claudius comes into the room and goes back out into the hall, all without
a cut in the camera work. Branagh is expert at doing long, continuous
tracking shots that circle around and through the characters. These long
tracking shots give the film a flowing feel very unlike the quick action
cuts in Zeffirelli‘s Hamlet.
Overall Branagh illuminates Shakespeare‘s text with talented ac-
tors who can tell the story realistically. In the interviews that came with
the DVD, many of the main characters comment how Branagh wanted
Shakespeare to sound as if it made sense (at least as modern viewers
would understand it). Branagh had the actors read their parts with him
individually and made sure they understood what they were saying before
filming. This version of Hamlet is beautiful and perfect in its totality. As
Branagh says, Hamlet ―gives you kind of an unconditional feeling. It
gives you something. It's poetry and it nourishes the soul.‖
Beach Jordan Forte
We look in the mirror and see
dissatisfaction engraved on our faces.
We hate the bodies we posses,
our sense of beauty distorted.
We blame the media,
with ads of high fashion,
sunken cheeks and
protruding ribs on our idols,
irrational standards of perfection.
Yet we devour every word,
perfect stick figures draped in luxury
flawless airbrushed faces advertising your perfect shade
Aesthetic illusions pleasing to the eye,
enveloping our minds,
driving us to
of our bleak reality.
never good enough as-is.
Cutting, stretching, stitching,
a new self made to order.
But really this is just a cycle
of never-ending dissatisfaction.
From This School
There is a place in beautiful Hawaii,
Where colors and race all seems in style,
Acceptance and friendship that never break,
Brotherhood instilled like icing on cake.
From Royal London to the Philippines,
Majestic Mongolia to Idaho Springs,
This men and women that study here,
Trained to be leaders by the university,
Brigham Young University- Hawaii,
A place where pristine beauties are nearby,
And from this school will be people of worth,
To show integrity and leadership to the world.
Untitled Taylor Rippy
Land of Legend
Magical doesn't even begin to describe this island. There's something
about the tropics that's enchanting; maybe it's the air that smells like sugar
cane, the plumerias that swirl around your bare feet as the warm night
trade winds ruffle your hair, the way the lazy sun tints your skin like a
marshmallow over fading coals.
Aside from the utter dreaminess of it all, there are things about this place
that simply make you smile. The local kids, kicking stones and singing on
their way home from the tiny elementary school down the street. The
stray cat that curls up on the downstairs doorstep, a reliable greeting after
a day of classes. The scar that trails down his wise little face, cocked at an
angle as he rests sleeping. Or the rooster that lives in the yard, patrolling
the premises hour after hour. He is the self-appointed alarm clock of the
neighborhood, perhaps a dysfunctional one—I don't know of anyone that
wants to be woken up at 4 am. It's the view out of my window, the awe-
striking jagged mountains that stretch up into the misty clouds. Legend is
that the gods rested their canoes against these peaks, creating the deep
grooves that run from base to pinnacle.
I love living in a land of legend.
Brigham Young University Hawaii
University Honors Program
Hokuloa Fall 2010
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