“There’s a word Trevor once told me about, one he learned from Buford, who served in the navy in Hawaii during the Korean War: kipuka. The piece of land that’s spared after a lava flow runs down the slope of a hill—an island formed from what survives the smallest apocalypse. Before the lava descended, scorching the moss along the hill, that piece of land was insignificant, just another scrap in an endless mass of green. Only by enduring does it earn its name. Lying on the mat with you, I cannot help but want us to be our own kipuka, our own aftermath, visible. But I know better” (Vuong, 118).
This passage is from Little Dog, a queer Vietnamese-American boy from a poor and traumatized family about his non-platonic friend Trevor, who deals with substance abuse and ill-feelings towards his queer identity. Little Dog is using this clever metaphor to describe the disillusionment he faces in relation to a “happy ending” for either him or Trevor, especially them together. The diction used to describe the island almost personifies it by using words that can both be used for land and people, like “spared” and “enduring”. The writing is very beautiful and smooth and the imagery of the lava and green on the hill really encapsulates me in the moment. I enjoy a metaphor most when I can understand it more than I can explain it. I believe this piece still resonates in 2022, because people are not granted the tools necessary to “survive the apocalypse”. Our society and healthcare system has a poor relationship with both trauma and addiction and I believe the hopelessness that Little Dog feels is shared by those in the present that share the same sentiments.