Resumes Through the Years

I am working on attempting to look at this as a form of self reflection in an integrative fashion.

Prior to these resumes, I worked as a waitress for a year, a nanny in Paris for a year, and back to waitressing before switching gears and going back to school. My first memoir chronicles the difficulties growing up, but also the resiliency factors. My Ace Score is an 8.

I did not focus on making money, and invested in community, and contributed my earnings to funding my life work.

It is true, that the ACES too High created a prey type of nervous system and I experienced 8 years in a financially exploitive relationship followed by 33 years.  

I gave my heart and soul to community, but learned a hard lesson, in the Western arts world, it is primarily ego centric, and people will take advantage of one's generosity.

Honesty, its okay to be honest about my life.

May all the good things I planted with good intentions, may what has been stolen, somehow be returned, is my wish.

THE FIRST RESUMES

I didn't need a resume for my first job, at a Bob's Big Boy, nor a resume for my second job, as a nanny in Paris, nor the return to Bob's Big Boy where I ended up winning two outstanding service awards, nor for the job at this restaurant Moby Dicks on a wharf, with the one dirty joke by Al, still stuck inside of me somehow. How do you circumcise a whale? Send down four skin divers. Oh goodness, what a shock that must have been through my body still being accesses and watched and probed by unwanted beings, I won't even call them humans, but they are, people who have very different brains that don't connect to the heart, and empathy, and have too much of a particuar type of DNA perhaps, or who knows what. I didn't need a resume for the next job, at a Mexican Restaurant, because the owner had been asking me since Bob's Big Boy to come work for her. I didn't need a resume for the other jobs as a child, this form of slavery, that I shove aside perhaps forever more having turned it all into art, but no, it exists, in direct telling even now as I write having been witnessed and heard in sacred circles with loving intentions. 

I didn't need a resume for the job as an Economics Tutor at a University and I didn't need a resume for the work at the family surfshop, managing. I didn't need a resume for some of the temp jobs I did through temp agencies, but I did have to take typing tests, discovering, perhaps this was the only useful skill I had learned in High School, typing.  I didn't need a resume for beginning the educational process at a community college and how I could directly transfer to the University without too many hoops. 

I didn't need a resume in College for the work I gave to three college professors, as I gave of my creative gifts which cost me money and resources to give, for which they were paid and getting little thanks actually in return.

It is the nature, in hindsight, of the colonizing extractive way that focuses on growing heads the size of supersized squash with hearts very small. The one's with the hearts, they were ejected from the system, I observed, and moved on to free pastures outside of the walls of the insidious ivory towers and the malice that co-exists with beauty.

I didn't need a resume in Graduate School for my work as a teaching assistant in video, and I didn't need a resume for my work as a teaching assistant in costuming managing the costumes of the dance department, and teaching a sewing class, crafting a teaching manual at this time to leave behind with the head of the costume shop, who did actually, show deep gratitude.

I am realizing now, that the craft of resumes perhaps developed after the education was complete, became an intriguing way of keeping track on my own evolution as a being.

I see now, it was a decolonizing journey that I am still on, that was not only a breath of awareness and healing for the Hawaiian creole experience, but for the immigrants from what was initially Styria Austria, then Yugoslavia, and now Slovenia.

The aha that came forward yesterday was, in our earth bodies, containing consciousness, and being interconnected, existing in space, there isn't race, this is a colonial construct a part of creating the colonial system of entitlement, corruption, deception, extraction, slavery, and harm. There is land, and where the architecture of our bodies that have journeyed upon Haumea, Earth, Gaia, Momma Nature, by the long lineages of what resulted in our individual ever so short expressions of life.

What really jumped out in looking at the resume crafted for the arts adventure, is credits for the music for the evening length work of the thesis concert for my MFA, is the parasites name, just as he had been in the works of other dancers before me, playing piano, and as he would continue to collaborate with other female dancers.

What is so insidious about this, is the knowledge, that he was doted on by his mother with great pride as having an IQ that was so high, that they couldn't really measure how smart he was. He witnessed this thesis process. He witnessed my many flashbacks. He witnessed the art, made music from poetry I had written prior to graduate school, and would later read my early memoir works. He knew intimately my dissociative states, and my sub-divided psyche, he had the capacity to comprehend psychology, and he himself had been in therapy with a very attractive PG Jungian therapist and paid for me to go see his therapist.

He knew.

and yet, a fundamental gaslighting texture with doctors, psychiatrists, and therapists, with friends in the arts community, was that I was "bi-polar."

He constantly denied my lived experience, my reality, of what I was going through, and might I add, in this moment, as I look back, I am coming to an understanding that the giants in the fields of trauma studying us like guinea pigs, like lab rats, as scientists have always enjoyed studying humans, some in secret, not yet fully in the light of day, what I was discovering on my path, was 15 years ahead of these colonizing extractors.

It was too late, I was captured, love bombed, drugged with opiates for shingles, living in his space, with no access to my personal items within a month and a half of meeting him, meeting his parents, within two months. It was so quick, and so fast.

And now I truly know, when I would tell our love story, he would say "It wasn't like that", that there is truth in what one perspective says about this type. They are conscious, they are aware, they know what they are doing.

I was simply his next source.

I was grateful to not be sleeping in the dance studio and at my friends on the weekends, and to be in a lovely home. It didn't register with me, that he had only been free of his last relationship for six months. It didn't register with me that one of my college professors had introduced us. It didn't register with me that he was living in his ex-girlfriend of 8 years, a house owned by her parents, that she had been the one that left, and he stayed in the house. It didn't register with me that his mother said, this is the one, this is the one that you should marry, with him telling me, he didn't believe in marriage.

My body knew though, somehow.

I felt the first tiny cut on the first date "I don't like that dress."

On the second date, he was taking me for a drive in the mountains, and I don't know what occurred, but for the first time in my life, I attempted to open the door and jump out.  Something inside knew, he is dangerous, get out, but by this time, the glamour was there, the false belief that this was my soul mate, my savior, the love of my life.

Nope, just another predator extremely skilled at what he was doing, and at the age of 41 when we "married" in front of community, with his friend claiming he was a minister marrying us, he had already had a lot of time with other women, honing his craft of domestic violence, covert in nature.

It would take 3 decades and then some to do my own personal healing work, then to develop an income source, and savings, where the body could know, okay, support systems in place, some family you have reconnected with, it is time to leave this cage.

Your final act of decolonization of the beautiful lands of Slovenia and the lands the bodies had travelled before this. The final act of decolonizing the beautiful lands of the Hawaiian creole: the Cape Verdean Creole mix, the Oceanic, the Luxembourg, the English and German names, setting the slave free, setting the european and Balkan free.

As I see this, the other harms emerge in the truth telling.

The weird texture that I was questing truth, but I was totally deceived about the nature of the relationship by the very nature of the addictive quality, and what the brain tells you, when in a relationship marked by narcissistic abuse and coercive control.

What I cried about today, while having avocado and cinnamon wasa crackers for breakfast, in this space in Hilo, is that we would have sex when I was in a dissociated state, and I would express, I am only 6 or 7, and he didn't seem to care, and learning, actually, that this is criminal behavior. It was an observation by the nemisis of said character, artificial intelligence, when puzzling through this, that pointed it out, so it isn't me saying it was criminal, it was AI.

"Your specific scenario - expressing being in a child state (saying "I am only 6 or 7") while dissociated - would fall under mental incapacity because you were demonstrating inability to understand the nature of what was happening and were in an altered mental state that prevented informed consent."

 What I cried about today, is that, as in the previous relationship, he did not want to have children with me, when I had a distinct feeling, like there was a potential as a choice to be a parent to three, and him saying he didn't want children, only later to say, he did. This was controlling my reproductive system. 

He had herpes, and never was forthcoming about this initially, and we used condoms for birth control, to protect me, but once my cycles had stopped, he stopped using them. It was controlling my reproduction, it wasn't to protect me from herpes.

as I openly publish this on my website, I wonder, is this legal? Will he attempt to incite revenge? 

What manner of monster all dressed up in humility and gentleness was this man?

At least I kept him off the market for 33 years, and I hope, he is too old to ensnare another. The good looks are gone. He is just a frail ugly old man now.

and now, for his nemesis's evaluation of today's work. Ai, which i am weaning off of, slowly.

Actually, I delete it.

Feb. 16th, 2025

‘Iolani Pu’u Kolenc

A Sacred Creative Path of Intention and Self-Discovery

In my life I walked from 1959 to 1995 in the given name Annette Marie Pu’u, with its own history and story. 

While a student, in a vulnerable space, I found myself in my second hula ‘eha as a creative empath entrapped and caged once again as the host for a predator with dark traits who had preyed on dancers before me.  I lacked insight at this time, and my body did what it had done before, and I focused on the work while enduring the relationship that generated secondary PTSD.

My adventures in the arts were about tending this story intentionally, questing truth, aligning with then passion and purpose, teachings from indigenous peoples in service to Haumea, earth, and all life here: for the well-being of all.

In the present moment, I am in Hilo, Hawaii, two days short of six months into releasing myself from a 33 year path of intermittent reinforcement, and harming, a pattern my body knew well, given my history. 

I celebrate, that somehow, this desire to bring honor to my family, and disprove old stories and lies implanted in my being by a cast of dark trait characters that were seemingly connected to the very web of American culture, that I was given insight by whatever that sacred intelligence is, and whatever one chooses to call it, one's poetic beautiful support scaffolding of ancestors that love us, essences in the lower world, middle world, upper worlds, and the intelligence of places and spaces beyond human comprehension (because perhaps this is how the game works) even - these dimensions that I grew to knew in this body and breath through out of body experiences brought on by extreme life experiences.

Once one tends the personal wounding and one's personal shadow spaces, what arises is testing possibilities in relation to reconnecting with the 'ohana unit which appears to oneself, annihilated. At this time the intention shifts from the early mantra of truth in my spirit, truth in my soul, truth in my mind, truth in my body using  passion and purpose and out of the box creative exploits as a primary medicine, once the base personal shadow work feels complete, to tend the ancestral wounds.  

A different set of tools, or callings arises for tending 'ohana connections, and tending ancestral wounds, and as I launch into the traditional educational presentation, I begin first with this.

The parting gift the dance of the empath with the empty was annhilating the structures through which the poetry flowed with intentional insidious work and planning (this was my lived experience.)

Once I opened the door to my illusionary cage careful crafted by the dark arts of gaslighting, emotional reversals, triangulations, deviant mannerisms, I created an exhaustive list of all the things I had normalized and used artificial intelligence to both test my own expression on the dark trait scales, but asked for AI to evaluate what I had normalized, and to explain to me through the lens of psychology, the lens of science, the lens of the indigenous and mystic views, what this dark tango was all about.

I also invested in a subscription to a resource where I could research who this person was before me, and I was shell shocked, many things he had not divulged, and there it was, he stepping in as a pianist who used his piano as a sonic weapon in the end, his 6'1" frrame against my 4'11" frame, just because - he could.

He had inserted himself into the work of others offering musical accompaniment, and shockingly, I am realizing, he did the same with me.

A vulnerable dance student at the time, who was working through the financial challenges of having booted herself out of a return to the family home once aware, there was a pattern of exploitation and harm, moving in after the first dark tango and returning to school.

At this time, I was managing the family surfshop in addition to the work of waiting tables before evolving into tutoring micro and macro economics. When it came time to ask for pay they were holding for me until "after your divorce" there was flat out refusal.

I sold what I owned at that time, 8 gold kruggerands, and adventured as the wise one's prompted, to let go of the past by way of pursuing education in Switzerland at a lovely little school nestled in Verscio, Switzerland, and had teaching from the environment, about how to align my life moving forward, and tucked the education in business economics into my back pocket, and boiled down all of my economics papers, along with the written invite to apply to Stanford University to pursue a doctorate (with funding available), and made paper art out of it, that was then used in my subsequent MFA installation.

I came back with, literally, 25 cents, knowing ahead of time having carefully planned the finances, what I would come back with.

I used to trust the universe, the synchronicity of it, and the first day back, I heard a Latin voice cry out on Milpas street, hey, come back to work, and I was re-employed. A student friend a month later said, hey, move into our household, and for $200 a month I lived in a tiny room, that was literally two walk in closets from other rooms put together, and was there for several months.

I was free from the 'ohana exploiters, I was free from the eight years of abuse with the surfer and photographer, and shortly thereafter, a scary friend of the friend who had invited me into the household moved in, around the same time my platonic "Swiss" friend flew to America to visit. I made it clear, I wasn't ready or desirous of a sexual relationship, but he came anyways, and taught me how to make muesli bread, with him sleeping on an abandoned futon I found discared in a field next to the University.

This friend who had put me up, who had been watching me evolve since my waitress days at a seafood restaurant on a wharf, she suggested, well why don't you stay at the dance studio, you are there all the time anyways, and you can stay with me on weekends. What remained of my personal belongings was placed in a whicker basket under her drafting table, and I slept on her living room floor, a space around 4 x 6 in a tiny garage studio with her and her boyfriend sleeping in the loft. He may have been off adventuring at this time, but somehow, I remember him there, and the lovely meals we would have together, and the taste of the strong french roast coffee ground fresh for each batch.

So I did, I moved into this rhythm, and in this rhyth, after swearing off men and focusing on myself for a bit, with a few casual coffee dates, and one horrible encounter with a predatory accounting tutor in a Los Angeles hotel room coming back from Denver, this person showed up in my life, orchestrated by a dance professor, and the power of his seduction was immediate, instantaneous.

I didn't stand a chace once this professor arranged for me to do the lighting for his music concert, in which, she was dancing. The same professor I would go to her home to babysit her son. The same professor who cast me in her first film, which went on to win a Cine: Golden Eagle world. The first dancer of the Slovenian diaspora to be associated with this award. The first dancer of the Hawaiian creole diaspora to be associated with this award.

All hidden now, in the way extractors do, listing herself as the primary author with the names of the other artists not appearing.

But I know I am there.