2019.10.21: Tikehau Photo Shoot

Tikehau Photo Shoot.
Daize goes on her first photo shoot, and learns something about herself.
IC Date	10/21/2019
Players	Daize
Location	Tikehau.

There is just something about dropping in on the perfect wave. It's as if the stars aligned, and the Cosmos cleared the way for Daize to ride this beautiful wave in such a scenic area as Tikehau, located in the Tuamotu Archipelago in French Polynesia. The island itself appears to have been forgotten by time, as the lush greens and crystal clear blues and 'pink' sands only adds to the perfection of the backdrop. The wave is nothing more than a five foot swell, but it seems to call Daize's name as it breaks over the coral reef. The film crew, the GoPro camera mounted on the nose of the board, and the scuba photographers are all but forgotten. The only thing that matters to Daisy Parker is finding her surfing Nirvana.

It's within that first turn, the bottom turn which leads her back up to the lip of the rolling wave that Time has its way with the surfer girl. No longer is she the spokesperson for a start-up surfing brand, but she's that 14 year old girl that's just learning how to surf off the coast of Santa Monica. The elation and joy that comes with being able to 'surf' on her own overwhelms her. She's no longer the grommet, but now 'Gidget' - the nickname given to her by her step-father lovingly. His acceptance and praise out on the surf is rivaled by none. It was only a flicker of moment in 'real time'; but for the surfer girl, that reliving of the moment felt like an eternity. When her senses return to the here and now, Daize has enough grace and poise to withstand the 'sudden change in locale' and is able to do a roundhouse cutback at the top of the wave. She manages to catch one of the cameramen with the spray from turn, providing an awesome 'action' shot.

The S-turn needed to avoid being consumed by the rolling of the wave is easily performed and placed her inside the beginning formation of the wave's barrel. Again, the camera crew are loving the shot. This is why they selected this 'no name' surfer girl to represent their product. For Daize, the peacefulness and serenity inside the wave is tempered with concern and caution, so as to not get trapped inside the collapsing wave. The spray from inside the wave are like tears upon her face. Tears that streak down her face, experiencing her first 'vision' of the past. She's transported back in time yet again to the 'tween-teen stages.

The sultry sound of Shania Twain singing a romantic love song, common for first dances at weddings, is coupled with the gruesome carnage that comes from having metal wrapped around a solid oak tree. The shattered windshield reflected and refracted the light from the headlights, also serving as symbolism in regards to a failed marriage. The stink of alcohol dulls the senses, but obviously it did little for the pain. A man's dying breath coincides with the finishing of the song, ~... I will love you as long as I live from this moment on.~ There is a brief moment as everything becomes still, even Daisy Parker's father. No sound. No breath. No pulse.

Again, this review of memories past caused by the psychic impressions on a bottle opener is nothing but a short instance in this surfing run; however, the blonde experiences it again for the first time. She calls out his name just as the wave is going to collapse, "Papa!" Her need for self-preservation guides her board through the white water, salvaging the ride and saving herself from being thrashed. The camera crew could not be more thrilled by the awesome turn of events. Some are hooting and hollering in praise at the skill and sheer awesomeness of the ride. For Daize, there's no excitement or adrenaline rush. The loss of her father is experienced yet again for the first time. And there are some that wonder why she doesn't embrace her visions, her 'gifts'.

Finishing out the ride, Daize falls over to one side into the ocean while clutching onto her board. Being in the water, feeling a different environment helps with moving past the vision. The texture of the wax-riddled board gives her something to focus on. There's a familiarity with her surfboard and feeling the ankle strap and leash against her skin while treading water. The crew on the boats and the photographer in the water are saying things, but Daize doesn't pick up on what's being said. Given by the crew's actions, they appear to be packing up and heading back to shore. For now, the surfer chick remains where she is. Finding her center and finding her serenity.

Not being one known for making decisions on her own, Daize hops back onto her board and begins to paddle back out to the break. Fortunately, with the camera crew and proper permits, Miss Parker has the ocean all to herself. Nevermind that the crew are heading for shore for some reason. With her visions carrying her into the past, or providing glimpses into the future, Time is a little more fluid for the surfer. Perhaps it got away from her. Maybe the session is over, and that's why the crew is leaving. She wasn't really paying attention anyway when they were discussing the details of the photo shoot. She just wanted to surf. Just like now. One more run, all by herself. No obligations to get the perfect shot. One more wave that will help her center herself and move past those visions.

And just like before, the heavens have opened and mana rained down upon the surfer chick. Paddling to catch the next set in the corduroy, Daize catches yet another wonderful wave that appears to call to her. Mentally, she has heard this call many times as a youngster. Especially after visions during school and dealing with the ramifications and fall-out from the inconvenience of those visions, Daize would often yearn for the ocean and to be at peace. She claimed that the ocean calls to her. However, in this case, mentally, there's an elderly but tender feminine voice calling out, "Kotiro."

As she starts to ride the wave, gliding and carving up the wave with ease, the vision of being with her step-dad returns to the forefront of her mind. However, Yvette's voice serves as a voice over for this particular vision. "He took advantage of you! He raped you!" The tender embrace of her step dad that she thought was love changes and shifts towards something more lecherous. The look of love on the teenage girl doesn't match the predatory grin of the much older man. Lost in the love, blind to the sick advances of the pedophile, the teenage Daize falls deeper and deeper into his trap. Crippled by the grief and loss of her father, paralyzed by the lack of understanding from her mother and her teachers - not just how she was feeling, but from the 'visions', the teenage girl clung onto anyone that would listen despite the warning signs that should have given her alarm.

Was this even true? Is the wisdom being presented now nothing more than a delusion, influenced by outside forces or is it a Truth that she was simply too blind to see? Even as her vision returns once more to the present day, that indecision of understanding slows her reaction time down by a fraction of a moment. Still, that small unit of time is enough to disrupt everything. By the time her mind can focus on her surfing, her board is airborne. And it's trajectory is different from hers. On the bright side, her wipeout caused her to land beyond the rolling swell of the wave, and beyond the thrashing of the 'washing machine'. Thanks to her ankle leash, returning to the surface and reclaiming her board is a simple breeze. Who says that Daize doesn't plan for the future?

As she straddles her surfboard, the blonde surfer girl simply takes a moment to soak in the beauty and majesty of Tikehau's scenery. An oasis of palm trees on pink sand surrounded by crystal clear blue waters. The placid calm waters of the Pacific coupled by the rolling waves caused by the reef break. If this were home, she would be in her Nirvana. And as she has been prone to do, a song starts to play in her mind. Even now, she feels compelled to sing. Finding a voice that's been buried deep inside, she starts to belt out the Disney tune.

~ I've been staring at the edge of the water ~ ~ Long as I can remember ~ ~ Never really knowing why ~ ~ I wish I could be the perfect daughter ~ ~ But I come back to the water ~ ~ No matter how hard I try ~

"Kotiro kakaho," speaks that elderly feminine voice from before. Daize looks around in confusion because it sounds so real. There was love in the way it was spoken. The song continues to play in the background of her mind, though. Hearing voices and seeing visions has become common place for the blonde, so there's no real sense of alarm. It's simply Daize being Daize, and succumbing to her 'daze'. She simply accepts the disruption and catches up to the lyrics in her head.

~ ... I can satisfy if I play along ~ ~ But the voice inside sings a different song ~ ~ What is wrong with me?! ~

There is heartfelt emotion as Daize sings that particular verse. It's as if she's hoping someone, anyone will provide an answer to that question. Even the music has a pregnant pause as if to let the question resonate with the audience. There really has been no answer given as to why she endures these visions of the past or the glimpses of possible futures. Dom tried to explain it to her that it's like having dyslexia, and that she just needs to learn how to see things properly. But even mentioning school brings back the failures she experienced. After all, a teacher told her straight to her face that she is good for only two things, but then never elaborated what those two things were. Not knowing only reinforces the glass ceiling that her step dad created by telling her that girls like her are too stupid for school.

With her visions, odd things or unexplained things have become the norm. So again, she merely accepts that an elderly man with flowing grey locks emerging from the water and climbing aboard her surfboard is perfectly normal for her. When the elderly islander man smiles, his teeth appear jagged like consummate Vs. His beady black eyes appear to focus in on the girl. However, poor Daize is still lost in her song. She continues to sing, hearing that song rattling around in her brain, and serenades this stranger. If he's a figment of her imagination, then it's no big deal. If he's real, then maybe he'll be entertained. Many have told Daize that she's adorable with her off the wall antics.

~ See the light as it shines on the sea ~ ~ It's blinding ~ ~ But no one knows how deep it goes ~ ~ And it seems like it's calling out to me ~ ~ So come find me ~

The elderly man's grin just gets impossibly wider, literally from ear to ear as it stretches across his face. Daize abruptly stops singing as she starts to feel the pounding headache that some might attribute to being hung over; however, she knows better. It's not the first time that she felt this particular sensation. It's with that realization that the man dissipates as if he was nothing more than a water based illusion. Daize quickly shifts her position on the board from straddling the fiberglass shape to lying prone upon it like she was going to paddle to catch a wave, or perhaps more importantly, paddle to shore. She barely has enough time to get settled before her surfboard is pummeled from underneath the water.

The collision between the tiger shark and the surfboard feels like being hit by a bus. The force behind the impact launches the 120 pound surfer into the air, but that is when time starts to slow down. Not figuratively. Literally. Perhaps this could be considered an out of body experience, except that Daize is still within her body. The spray caused by the shark hurling itself at the surfboard with great velocity scatters throughout the air, but in painfully slow motion. Daize could reach out and pluck the droplets out of the sky. Even her freefall slows down. Daize is certainly not known for quick thinking, but the fact that she can formulate this awareness has her completely confused. Then again, being dazed and confused is nothing new.

Time eventually resumes at normal speeds, which allows for gravity to take hold once more. However, when Daize falls, she does not fall into the ocean. No, she falls upon the soft shores of a rather fertile island that's quite different from Tikehau, but still carries a sense of familiarity. The lush greens roll over the hills that rise up out of the ocean. The black, rocky sands hint at its volcanic history. The waves lap upon the beach gently with soothing and peaceful sounds. Even Daize's appearance has changed. No longer is she wearing the neoprene wetsuit to keep her warm while surfing in the chilly Pacific waters. A red tube top made from barkcloth called tapa wraps around her ample bosom. Pandanus grass woven together to form a skirt covers her lower half. Jewelry made from flower petals serve as an anklet around her left ankle, while a decorative bone comb holds her parted hair in place.

"Whoa," is the first word to come from the blonde's mouth, taking everything in. Unlike other visions, there's something 'real' about this experience. The abrupt change has the girl speechless.

"Kotiro kakaho, you do not need to be afraid for you are home," speaks that elderly feminine voice from before. There's a caring, nurturing tone with every syllable, but one that carries an air of wisdom and greater understanding.

Daize looks around in confusion, pushing herself off the black sands. A complete circle, scanning the beach, does not reveal the source of that disembodied voice. "Dude, where am I?" She asks with a stoned bewilderment, but without the THC influence.

"My dear, kotiro kakaho, you are on the sacred isle of Motutapu," explains the voice.

Just like in a dream, time appears to be rather fluid upon the island. Although, it's clear that the landscape has not been ravaged by time. The skies easily shift from the clear blue skies to the purple, pink and golds of sunset, turning hours into minutes. As the sun sets, casting the island into shadows, an apparition made of pale moon light manifests before the blonde girl. The matronly figure wears the traditional garb of the Maori, defining her as an elder and obviously as an ancestor of the island; although, not necessarily Daize's ancestor.

Again, for Daize, to have delusions and have visions of strange things is nothing new. Accepting the presence of the ghostly figure is no less difficult for her than witnessing the sun set. There is a sense of awe and wonderment, but it's not distracting or the focal point of her thoughts. It is what it is.

Curiously, Daize asks, "Dude, why do you call me that?"

The elderly woman elicits a loving laugh. She reaches out to touch Daize's cheek. Oddly enough, the blonde surfer girl can actually feel the touch of the apparition and the warmth of the gesture. "Because you never told me your name. You shared with me many things, but never your name."

"Oh," responds Daize in kind. Her brain has to digest that for a moment, and then she answers with what comes logically, "People just call me Daize. It's like my name is Daisy, but they stop after the first syllable." Again, the recitation and explanation of her nickname causes her to give that stoner laugh once more.

"Kotiro puawai kakaho?" inquires the elderly woman, looking for confirmation.

Daize just stares in incomprehension. Without waiting for an answer from Daize, the woman simply nods her head in approval, "A blossoming girl much like a flower. Yes, very fitting." However, she pauses. She tilts her head to one side as if to reprimand, but in a loving and endearing fashion, "Kotiro puawai kakaho, you should not sell yourself short by shortening your name. Others may think little of you, or may imply that you're not worth their time." She smiles, showing the aged laugh lines and crow's feet around her eyes, "But you are not a lessened version of your Self. You are kotiro puawai kakaho."

Daize does her best to repeat those words. They don't necessarily flow off the tongue, but the surfer girl seems to take pride in this translation of her name. Besides, how the hell do you make a nickname out of that? Each word is needed to define her. Kotiro is girl. Puawai is flower or blossom. Kakaho is blonde or fair. It's possible to remove the kakaho; however, the island's ancestors would view her blonde hair as foreign, so it's worth noting.

Tentatively, Daize asks in return, "So, uh, who are you?" You can see the cringing forming around her eyes, expecting a huge long name with many syllables and no hope of making a nickname for this elderly woman.

"I go by many different names, kotiro puawai kakaho," explains the woman with an amused tone. She gazes upon the blonde with her lips curling with mirth, "Some call me Hanaiakamalama, Hina-puku-i'a, or Hina-'opu-hala-ko'a." Daize's facial expressions can't help but display her helplessness in trying to pronounce those names.

The elderly woman keeps the grin, "Others have names for me based on my mood such as Hinatea or Hinauri." While Daize's mood lightens with the shorter name, the matronly woman continues even further, "But you may call me Hina."

“Cool,” responds the surfer girl. She gives the ghostly woman a lopsided grin while holding up her hand with her thumb and pinky extended, commonly referred to as a shaka. “Aloha, Hina.”

Hina smiles fondly to Daize, “Kia ora, kotiro puawai kakaho.” There’s a pause before she questions, “How come you never talk to me anymore? I miss our conversations.”

Daize furrows her brow, taking a moment to try to recall any previous discussion or conversation with a ghostly woman. For most normal people, this shouldn’t take too long. However, between drug-induced memory lapses and having multiple visions over the years, Daize can’t come to a conclusion.

Before she can even utter a response, her surroundings have changed. Again, with the fluidity of time upon this island, Daize finds herself in her bedroom in Santa Monica with all the trappings of being a ‘tween-ager. Her bedroom window giving easy access to the rooftop of the garage addition to the house. The night sky illuminated by the full moon.The cool breeze and the salty air calling for the young girl to step out onto the rooftop.

Daize obliges and passes through the window frame so that she can take up a familiar seated position upon the roof, so that she can look up to the moon. Though, instead of the moon, the ghostly woman has taken its place.

Hina looks down upon the surfer girl with that same fond expression. She says, “We used to talk incessantly about everything, but now I feel like you are running away from me.”

Daize can’t help but roll her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. She pulls her knees up to her chest. “Hina, Mom thought I was crazy. Had me seeing a shrink and everything. It was totally bogus.” She shrugs helplessly, “Said that my grades were dropping because I was being irresponsible. She just didn’t understand that I’m just stupid.” She then turns to look at Hina, “And I swear that teachers discriminate against stupid people, but no one believes me.”

“No, kotiro puawai kakaho. You are not stupid. Would Doctor Perlman and other doctors entrust you with coaching those children on how to surf if you were stupid?”

Recalling the children enrolled in the Wave Project always brings a smile to Daize’s lips. “You should see them, Hina. It’s totally awesome. They get so stoked. I love my little groms and grommets.”

“A stupid person wouldn’t be able to share their passion. You have enlightened their fragile minds by encouraging them to expand their horizons, not limiting them by their disabilities.”

Daize rolls her eyes and looks away, “Well, I can totally relate to how they feel, man.”

Hina keeps that tender smile upon her lips, “Empathy for those children is just one of your passions.” However, she does not let up. She continues with the affirmations, “To use your words, you’re not a Jake, a Quimby, or a Kook. When you surf, you can read the waves and coordinate a proper drop-in. You can perform stunts and tricks that not many others can. The joy you find in surfing is another one of your passions. No, kotiro puawai kakaho, I would not call you stupid. I would call you a passionate young girl.”

“But it’s not important stuff,” counters the blonde, though she’s already realizing the lack of conviction. Those kids are important to her, so how can she even say that they’re not important.

The matronly ghost feeds off that doubt and inquires, “Not important to who? Without your passion for surfing, you would not be able to teach those children how to surf. You would not be able to give them a sense of peace that you have discovered when you needed something to help you find your center.”

Daize looks down to her knees, probably noticing for the first time that she’s wearing cut-off jeans and her favorite tee as a teenager. It was a cute tee that had a cartoon caricature of a wave with a face and hands. One of the wave’s hands is drawn as if it’s frantically waving. The caption beneath it says “Born to Wave. Santa Monica, CA.”

Memories of the divorce between her mother and biological father return to the forefront of her mind. The money troubles, the arguing, the throwing of dishes, and other unhealthy actions of two lovers struggling to make ends meet highlighting those memories. Though the biggest memory stems around overhearing her mother say that they were too young to have a child, that they were not ready as a couple for the burdens that come with parenthood. Was her very existence the reason for why her family failed? Because of the divorce, her father drank himself into oblivion and collided with a tree in a fatal single car drunk driving accident.

“My mom,” is all the surfer says to the ghostly woman in a soft voice. The pain and hurt caused from the divorce fall-out can not be hidden in those two little words. And not just the divorce, but the struggles that persisted until the very day that her mother kicked her out of the house.

Hina shows her heavenly patience, knowing full well that working with Daize is like building a house of cards. She reaches out to Daize once more, allowing her immaterial hand to touch and lift Daize’s chin, so that they can look each other in the eye. Tenderly, Hina says, “Even mothers can make mistakes, but in time-”

Daize turns away once more while abruptly cutting Hina off, “I know, man. She said I was a mistake.”

Hina is persistent, and again, draws Daize’s gaze back to her. “Kotiro puawai kakaho, you are no mistake. Those children that you help believe in you. The people at the Wave Project believe in you. Your friends in Prospect believe in you more so than you believe in yourself.” She then softens her smile, “And in time, your mother will come to know who you are.”

Hina’s glow darkens, making her fade from view. The scenery of Daize’s teenage home shifts once more. Now, the room is dark save for track lighting pointing towards a stage with a single pole. The far wall of the stage is nothing but mirrors, segmented by white Christmas tree lights. Music with heavy bass blares from the speakers as unseen gentlemen loiter on plush seats with dollar bills in hand. A version of Daize comes on stage wearing what could be described as a school girl’s uniform. The observant would say that the particular school was some fictional wizarding school.

While the debauchery of the scene unfolds, Hina’s disembodied voice speaks with disdain, “Unfortunately, there are dark forces that wish to control reality. Some of them, you know may know personally, like your step-father.” The timing of stating his influence coincides with him appearing out of the darkness of the room, so that he can offer a dollar bill to his ‘favorite dancer’. There’s no love, only lust. Perverted lust. The look in his eye makes the ‘real’ Daize recoil as she watches the stripper version of herself playfully crawls over to him, so that he can tuck the folded bill along the elastic waistband of her red and gold g-string panties.

“If he had his way, he would have kept you under his thumb as his play thing,” the ghostly voice says with venom and vitriol. “But there are others out there far more sinister wishing pain, strife, and malfeasance upon the world. You will need to learn to see past their illusion in order for you to truly share your passion. Not just with those children, but with everyone.”

Before meeting Yvette, Daize would have fought tooth and nail against anyone who spoke a bad word about her step dad. He was the only one who understood her. He was the only one who understood that school was getting in the way of surfing. He was the only one who understood that the rules established by her mother were controlling and unnecessary. All that mattered was the surf, which meant being the stereotypical blonde surfer babe in a bikini. But now, she’s starting to see how his interference isolated her away from school officials who could help against sexual predators. A true step dad wouldn’t drive a wedge between mother and daughter, especially after an ordeal such as a divorce. It was Yvette that planted that seed. A seed that Hina is now helping to grow.

Daize questions, sounding more like the school girl, “But how do I see past illusions, man? I’m not Chris Angel.” She can’t help but let out that stoner laugh.

And with that, the scenery changes once more. Nestled between moss covered crags, the cove has an esoteric value. The shoals of the cove provide a tall sandbar, which rivals several other California well known surfing spots like Maverick’s. The afternoon sun reflects off the ocean, roughly around high tide. Daize is now wearing her favored neoprene surf suit. Her pink surfboard resting by her feet.

“Tell me, kotiro puawai kakao, what do you see?”

Daize laughs merrily as she recognizes her favorite sunset hang out, “Dude, it’s Surfer’s Cove, man. Those barrels are totally gnarly. If you don’t pet the cat, you could be in for some major spin cycle.”

“Tell me about the waves. What do you see?”

Daize furrows her brow as she looks at the waves, “Dude, they’re breaking left.” She points to where the break begins, “You’ll definitely want to drop in about there, or you’re gonna be in the white water. The barrel will totally collapse on you and hold you under. Total washing machine.” Despite her protests of being stupid and dumb, Daize speaks with confidence in regards to the science of waves and reading them properly.

“What’s causing the waves to do that?”

Again, without hesitation, Daize answers, “Dude, man. This spot has a sandbar floor.” She laughs merrily that stoner laugh of hers. “It’s a beach break, man. So like, because of the sand, the waves curl the way they do.” She shakes her head, “But it’s like totally unpredictable. The sandy bottom gets pushed around by waves, tides, and undercurrents. As the ocean floor shifts, so do your waves.” She chortle laughs, “Making some waves totally psyching you out, thinking they’re going to do one thing, but they do another.”

“But how can I see that? I just see the ocean.”

Daize answers again with confidence, “Dude, you just need to spend time out on the ocean. Put in your hours, pay your reef tax, and have your fair share of headers and nose dives.” She laughs that stoner laugh, “But it’s all worth it, man. Totally worth it.”

The time at the cove quickly speeds up, allowing the setting sun to make its way to the horizon. It’s one thing to see the sun set in real time. It’s another to see it in fast forward motion. It’s just as breathtaking, if not more for the blonde surfer girl. Though, it doesn’t take long for the remaining light to disappear under the cover of darkness. A bonfire soon from her usual fire pit illuminates the area.

At the shore line, Daize can see a fourteen year old version of herself in a tube top bikini, which is not ideal for surfing, talking to a twenty something version of herself, dressed in proper surfing attire.

Fourteen year old Daize asks, “But how do I see past illusions, man? I’m not Chris Angel.” She can’t help but let out that stoner laugh. The current Daize watching all of this should be thinking that this is a deja vu moment; however, her visions have messed with her perception of time often enough that she simply accepts it.

Twenty something Daize answers, “Dude, you just need to spend time out on the ocean. Put in your hours, pay your reef tax, and have your fair share of headers and nose dives.” She laughs that stoner laugh, “But it’s all worth it, man. Totally worth it.”

Current Daize says with awe, “Whoa, dude. I just answered my own question. That’s totally wicked!”

As that realization sets in, the two younger versions of Daize dissipate as Hina once again materializes from before. “However, for you to see past the illusions created by these darker forces, you will have to push yourself past comfort levels.” She lets that sink in, hoping that Daize grasps what she’s saying.

Unfortunately, Daize sometimes needs a huge clue by four to get the full intent and meaning behind some things being said. The fact that Daize isn’t protesting or cringing from having to engage more fully into her powers is evidence enough for Hina to try approaching the 900 pound gorilla a different way. Head on.

“Kotiro puawai kakaho, you will need to embrace the visions, and not run away from them,” starts the matronly woman. She tried to acknowledge Daize’s apprehension with the tone of her voice; however, Daize’s opposition to this reared its ugly head.

“No way, man! That’s totally bogus! I’ve already died too many times, man. I see stuff that totally isn’t there. People think I’m crazy. My mom had me committed, and you want me to do this, willingly?” Daize protests adamantly. She points to herself, “I didn’t ask for these powers. I don’t want them. Just let me surf, man. I’m not bothering anybody.”

Hina accepts the blow back from Daize with heavenly patience, especially since she was expecting it. “Kotiro puawai kakaho, I understand what you’re feeling. What you’ve had to endure would be a burden for any-”

Daize cuts her off, “The memories aren’t mine! I shouldn’t have to carry them!”

The matronly woman shows her sadness and understanding with a tender smile, “My dear, kotiro puawai kakaho.” She reaches out, using a ghostly hand to brush a tear that started to roll down Daize’s cheek. “No, you should not have been made to bear such a burden.” Her shoulders drop as she continues, “But it was the lesser of two evils. With the way things were developing, you would have been trapped inside yourself. You would have been medicated and become a shell of yourself. Your passion was too much for your mother, and she was easily manipulated by Te Tuna-roa. I could not let that happen, so I struggled against my constraints in hopes of breaking free to rescue you from that fate. Unfortunately, your mind was not ready for me.”

Daize shakes her head as she asks, “Who is this tuna dude?” There’s still some lingering emotions detected in her vocal tone of the question.

The ghostly woman does her best to keep her comforting smile as she answers, “Te Tuna-roa is the father of all eels. Now, he has a forked tongue, so there are stories that say that we were lovers or that we were married, but that is not true. When I was younger, he would come to visit. He took advantage of our hospitality, and would eventually molest me.” She gives pause, as if allowing that to sink in, “Just like your step-father did to you. Just as I live inside you, Te Tuna-roa lives inside your step-father.”

Daize looks into the eyes of the matronly woman and asks timidly, more so like a schoolgirl rather than a confident surfer girl, “What if I’m still not ready for these visions?”

Hina responds with some finality in her voice, “You can either sit on the beach and accept the illusions for as they are, or you can charge into the waves, pushing your skill level to the very edge.” She pauses, and then plants the seed to strive for more, “And when you think you’re comfortable with those waves, search out bigger waves.”

And then as if she has some kind of ah ha moment, Daize squints her eyes and looks at Hina, probably for the first time, allowing her chortle laugh to ring through, “Hina, You’re the reason why I seek out the ocean.” She shakes her head, “It’s not the ocean. It’s not the surf.” Another pause as she has to take time to firmly grasp her revelation, “It’s you. You call me to be better. You help me find my center, my peace.”

Oddly enough, though perhaps it’s normal for Motutapu, music starts playing in the background. The percussions owning to polynesian culture is quite prominent. Even the vocal accompaniment speaks the native tongue for Tokelau, supporting the building of the music like a swelling of energy that’s waiting to peak and burst through.

~ I am everything that I’ve learned and more, still it calls me ~ ~ And the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me ~ ~ It’s like the tide, always falling and rising ~ ~ I will carry you here in my heart, You remind me ~ ~ That come what may, I know the way ~

Suddenly, and without warning, Daize finds herself underwater as if she’s caught within the thrashing of a rolling wave. More importantly, there’s a searing piercing pain upon her thigh as if something was trying to rend flesh from her body. Unable to determine which way is up, Daize flails out with her arms in hopes of getting away from whatever is causing her pain. Whether it’s swimming away from whatever is causing her pain, or lashing out at it, it doesn’t matter. Self-preservation is kicking in. It doesn’t take much for Daize to realize that a shark is trying to feast upon her.

Fearing death, there’s a power from within Daize that is strong and full. In a few moments, she could be dead. If only she could influence her luck and have that heroic timing of being saved at the right moment, she might be able to survive this attack. However, it’s no longer a matter of if. Hina opened her eyes to see past the illusions of reality. It’s in that very moment that she feels arms reaching for her, grabbing her and pulling her up and out of the water and onto their tender. Coincidental as it may be, there’s no mistaking that the aspects of Entropy and Time were in full force.

The camera crew quickly tend to Daize, making sure to apply pressure to the wound to reduce any blood loss. Voices, raised with anxiety and alarm, carry on around her as she’s just thankful to be away from death. Blankets are wrapped around the surfer as the tender races towards civilization. The comfort of the blanket feels like an endearing hug after reuniting with a long, lost relative. The pleasure that comes with the embrace seems to send a warmth throughout her body. Since there’s more concern about getting Daize to safety, not many would notice the Life magicks being used to reduce the severity of the shark bite.

As Daize starts to fade from consciousness, a kind voice whispers to her mentally, “And kotiro puawai kakaho, please don’t forget to talk to me at night. I much prefer the kotiro that squawks like a parrot than coos like a pigeon.”