Competing for more than crown

By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer

Saturday, Feb. 3. Our first public appearance. Uncomfortable in thigh-highs and brand-new pumps, I strolled awkwardly across the small stage at the Windward Mall, my lips quivering with nervousness.

In her four months as a contestant in the Cherry Blossom Festival, Catherine E. Toth learned that the journey was more important than the outcome. Pansy Chun • Special to The Advertiser

All my life I've felt out of place, that being hapa — Japanese, Hungarian, Portuguese, German and Dutch — meant being different. I didn't have the straight, glossy hair typical of Japanese girls, and couldn't fit into a petite size if my life depended on it. Put it this way: I haven't shopped in the children's department since third grade.

Comparing myself to friends who fit the classic cutout of local Japanese girls, complete with Sanrio lunchboxes and the latest Clark Changs, I naturally felt odd.

But here I was, parading in front of a crowd of onlookers at the first of a series of events marking a central festival of Japanese American culture in Hawai'i, smiling and hoping my differences weren't so pronounced that critics would say, "What is she doing here?"

I wasn't alone in my fear of being judged based on a few minutes of pivots, smiles and quick answers. Everyone's knees were shaking as much as our voices. Knowing that made me feel less alone in my anxiety.

But it wasn't until I faced my very first impromptu question that I started to seriously think about why I was here, what this was all about.

The question: "What was your opinion of pageants, and how has that changed after participating in the 49th Cherry Blossom Festival?"

A work in progress

A cultural class introduced to the festival two years ago, taiko drumming requires concentration and endurance. Practice was mandatory, as the contestants had to perform a six-minute number on festival ball night. And that was no easy task, as, from left, Lezlie Yamauchi, Luana Ogawa and Jaslyn Hanamura discovered. Catherine E. Toth • The Honolulu Advertiser

I tumbled the question in my mind. Is this a pageant? Why am I here?

I am not your typical pageant girl, if there even is such a person anymore. To me, foundation is an institution, not a makeup product, and pantyhose is unnecessary torture. Pageants are so foreign to me I even had to practice walking in heels — thick, sturdy heels — at work to get ready for our public appearances. Showing no signs of grace, or coordination, I fell that first day in heels — after sneezing.

I'm still a work in progress.

But being in the festival forced me to look at myself differently. As the weeks of preparation went by, with classes and public appearances crowding my away-from-work time, I began to realize that I have awful habits, such as skipping lunch and staying up late.

Now I had to take care of myself, from eating more healthily to avoid getting sick to wearing sunscreen whenever I played tennis. These weren't rules, but good advice.

But I knew I wasn't here to learn about the correct way to apply mascara or to master pivoting on a catwalk.

This was the most uncomfortable situation I could put myself in, to be thrust into the spotlight and be judged.

And that's exactly what I wanted.

This is the ultimate test: Imagine how hard it is to remain true to yourself while the world critiques you. Imagine standing up for what you believe in public, for everyone to hear. Imagine trying to be yourself when you're still searching for your own identity.

This is what I've learned.

The un-pageant

But the Cherry Blossom Festival is not a beauty pageant. Really.

Here's the proof: 40 percent of the final score is the judges' interview. And that's further broken down with marks for personality, poise, speaking ability and intelligence. Not great hair and perfect skin.

Fifty percent of the final score is handed out after the festival ball night. Again, public speaking and personality count for the majority of those points, proving that beauty isn't a priority.

The remaining 10 percent is based on attendance at culture classes, by far the most rewarding part of participating in the festival.

Most people don't realize how much work goes into preparing for the Cherry Blossom Festival. It's not like other pageants, in which the contestants meet the week before the finale. Learning about the Japanese culture is the focus of the effort, as contestants are required to attend various classes, ranging from origami to genealogy to taiko.

We attended four months of classes, held three or four times a week. There was no way we could master the art of ikebana (flower arranging) or urasenke (tea ceremony) in just three hours, but we did gain a greater understanding of and appreciation for the various customs and traditions that define us as Japanese Americans.

We were fortunate to meet the living treasures in our community, the instructors who are dedicated to perpetuating the Japanese culture in Hawai'i.

A reason to believe

No one can master the Japanese tea ceremony in one class with, from left, Chiyoko Fukuda and Atsuko Hasegawa of the Urasenke Foundation. But the Cherry Blossom contestants, such as Keri Murakami, far right, gained a deeper appreciation for the tradition in classes that preceded the pagaent. Catherine E. Toth • The Honolulu Advertiser

For eight weeks, we released our frustrations on taiko drums, every strike thundering in the chapel at Kapi'olani Community College. We channeled our energies into every stroke, every don-don-don-don. It was a full-body workout, our thighs and arms aching the next morning. Sweat was inevitable, and most of us ditched the makeup and cute outfits for tank tops and extra-strength deodorant.

Taiko taught me to focus. The hypnotic rhythms lulled me into a trance, my body swaying and my arms swinging in one continuous, fluid motion. My broad shoulders and strong arms became assets, not hindrances.

But more than just an education, these classes served as a way for the 15 of us to connect, share, bond and believe in each other.

We were classmates more than contestants. We spent nights in Dunkin' Donuts revising each other's prepared speeches. We practiced impromptu questions every week after our culture classes, no matter how tired or stressed we were. We went shopping together for pageant shoes and gaudy earrings. We let loose during karaoke, laughing and eating, feeling like a group of old friends.

But the hectic schedule of classes and appearances took its toll on the final stretch.

"I just want to get through this," I remembered one contestant saying, obvious from her tired eyes that the schedule was getting to her. "I want my life back."

It wasn't that they weren't enjoying the experience. (Our advisers made sure we did.) But we had all put our lives on hold for four months, postponing dinners with friends or resorting to just phone conversations with understanding boyfriends.

Even the morning before the finale, the exhaustion was obvious. We lounged backstage, leaning our heavy heads full of bobby pins and hairspray against each other's. This was it, we thought, this was the end.

Finding myself

It's not easy remaining true to yourself, especially when you're not sure who you are. But knowing that everyone was on the same search was comforting.

We were all in this together, and somehow, although it may have seemed impossible four months ago, we were going to survive.

As we gathered for one last huddle, a slide show of memories flashed in my mind: Posing with nori in our teeth at Catch of the Day Sushi, trying on outfits at Ethel's for the fashion show, dancing like no one was watching at a fund-raiser at Ocean's.

In the back of our minds, though, we all knew this was a competition, that ultimately, nine girls would walk away without a crown or sash. But it wasn't the thought of losing that bothered me; it was the realization that the group would be disbanded.

And as we held hands in the traditional Friendship Circle backstage, while the judges decided our fate, sadness overwhelmed me. Our ever-prepared advisers had Kleenex ready because they had been there, too.

This was it. And singing "Lean on Me" or the "Hokey Pokey" song didn't make any of us feel better. The outcome was inescapable: It was over.

But we realized that no one would walk away empty-handed in the sense that counted. The experience of participating in this festival is enough to change your life.

I've learned many lessons: Honesty is freedom. Make the most of every opportunity. Friendship is more important than winning. Learning is living.

But what I've learned about myself has profoundly impacted my life. I am a collection of every experience in my life. And this experience has taught me about appreciation, respect, honesty, graciousness and patience.

So my answer to that long-ago question, now that the festival ball is behind me?

The Cherry Blossom Festival is not a pageant. It is, instead, a celebration of culture and commitment, of heritage and humility, of fellowship and freedom.

And if we have learned anything, about our culture or ourselves, then we have won. Because the competition was never against each other. The challenge was for each of us, within ourselves. Success isn't measured by a tiara or a sash, but by the extent of learning.

And with that, we are all queens.