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| Sunset over Honolulu from my 10th floor window |
In an effort to stock a kitchen from scratch, I borrowed my son’s Costco card to buy staples: olive oil, vinegar, flour, and more. I resist these big warehouses because the size of the store and the quantities overwhelm me. Living alone, it would take me a year or longer to go through these products. However, I was heartened to see that prices were not much higher than on the mainland, as opposed to grocery stores where prices seem to be doubled. I figured I could freeze or share what I could not use.
Unlike other Costcos, I found myself happily wandering the aisles, surrounded by Asian folks. There were many intergenerational group shoppers, and my ears caught many Korean conversations. The aisles were well-stocked with shoyu, gochujang, and lots of other Asian staples. I felt affirmed, mirrored, and blended in: a new feeling for me after so many years on the continent. This is what it must feel like to be white, I thought, or to be Black in a city like Detroit. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.
But I got to the checkout, only to be rejected.
“You’re not on this member’s account. You’re not allowed to shop here.”
“Can we call him?” I asked. I had just spent nearly an hour picking out what I needed.
“No. This card says ‘non-transferable.’ You cannot use it.”
A team of us routinely shop for Baba Baxter in Detroit at Costco and had never encountered a problem. I was sure there was some way to get around this. Now there were two staff members, insisting on the same thing: NO.
Damn, it’s just some fucking groceries! I wanted to say. I was also tempted to ask the next person in line if they could buy my food and get reimbursed. Instead, I accepted the rejection and left the store.
In the shelter of my car, I wept.
A waste of tears! Costco? How petty could I be?
What came up for me was a feeling of being trapped in the capitalist consumerist machine. Being forced to spend money I’m trying to string out as long as possible. A rejection of the cooperative way of life I have been cultivating for so long. In Detroit, we share everything. My friends and I are all trying our best to hack the system, not get stuck in unfulfilling jobs, DIY, skill-share, live abundantly on less, practice interdependence, and reduce our carbon footprints. One Costco account can support several households. Living on less means we have time to grow food, take care of each other, and be available as needs arise. Now here I was back in the matrix. I felt forced to capitulate to the oppressive, exploitative, materialistic machine.
After I got a chance to regain my equilibrium, I decided to go to my neighborhood food cooperative. I had been meaning to join and volunteer anyway. Even though the prices would be higher than Costco, I could get a worker-member discount, as well as build community. After the feelings of dejection faded, I was able to remember, and act on, my values. On my way over, I got a call, which I ignored because it was an unknown number. But they called twice, then texted me.
Before I’d left home that morning, I had handwritten 3 notes. I slipped them under the doors of my next door neighbor, and the residents directly above and below me. The note read:
Hello, neighbor! This is Peggy, in #1004. I’m wondering if you would like to share wifi with me? We could split the cost and each save money. Let me know if you’re interested.
Who is “Peggy”? For the past 6 years, I’d been training my communities to use my Korean name, Gwi-Seok, instead, as part of my process of reindigenizing and decolonizing. But I’ve noticed something here in Hawai`i. Because I blend in so easily here, I don’t feel a need to assert my Korean identity. For the first time since childhood, I feel a sense of security about my racial identity. I don’t feel othered, exoticized, or like an outsider. I don’t feel like the people around me are whitewashing me; they are yellow-washing me, actually. As such, I’m as comfortable with “Peggy” as with “Gwi-Seok.” My family calls me Peggy and that feels fine. I introduce myself to casual acquaintances as Peggy because it's just easier.
The phone calls and text turned out to be from my downstairs neighbor, an older Black woman, who was happy to share her wifi with me. She came up to talk to me, and we had a beautiful neighborly conversation, resulting in both of us saving $40 each month! I promised to invite her (age 75) and her husband (age 85) up for dinner once I got settled.
Kokua Food Co-op also welcomed me with open arms. It’s a small neighborhood co-op and deli. The volunteers seemed to be mostly senior citizens. In the past, I have typically veered toward younger friends, because it seemed I had more in common with them than with people my age or older. Often I have found progressive white boomers exhausting and exasperating, because they are often entrenched in white saviorism and unconscious white supremacy, without an adequate analysis of patterns of power and harm. But here, in Hawai`i, many folks in their 50s and 60s+ seem to be a lot like me. Of course, the capitalism that defines our society still painfully prevails. But here at the co-op, I’m hopeful I can find folks who prioritize community over profit.
Today I went to the People’s Open Market, just 2 blocks from my home. These markets were started in the 1970s as a way to promote healthy local eating, and support local farmers, while selling discounted fruits and vegetables. I picked up some inexpensive daikon and papayas, and plan to make ggakdugi later this week. Also, I found the compost bin at the local community gardens. Even though I am far down on their waiting list to get a plot of my own, I can certainly contribute to their beautiful compost pile.
Another small victory resulted from my ask to the Facebook “Buy Nothing” group, listing the household items I am seeking. I don’t want to fill my apartment with new Walmart and Target shit produced overseas. I’d rather re-use and re-purpose what others no longer need, and spend my dollars somewhere it can support local community. One person is offering a batch of mason jars, another a small rug, someone has 50 clothes hangers to give away, and another person has pots and plants.
I feel encouraged that I will be able to create a healthy, sustainable life in this new/old city. Fuck Costco. Hello, neighbors!
