Lujan Bevacqua, Miget (Michael). Interview July 12, 2024.

00:00:00Jennifer Ho: Okay,

00:00:14Miget (Michael) Lujan Bevacqua: I'm, a little bit under the weather, but, feeling very good otherwise.

00:00:19Ho: Okay, good. Thanks for being here with me. I appreciate it. Okay, so I would like to start with your childhood. Tell me when and where you were born, and I'd love to hear about the people who raised you.

00:00:30Bevacqua: Oh, yes. So I was born in the year 1980 on the island of Guam. My dad, his name's Robert Bevacqua. He, has his roots in New York, Italian American, with some German ancestry, the Bevacqua family. His father, participated in the liberation of Europe in World War II and was a career US, Air Force officer, and then retired to Hawaii after, the war. And then, so my dad spent his formative years growing up in Hawaii. My mother, was the daughter of, Joaquin Flores. My mother, Rita Luhan--Flores Luhan was the daughter of Joaquin Flores Luhan and Elizabeth de León Flores Luhan. And my great--my grandfather on my mother's side was a master blacksmith. He was a cultural, master in Guam, the last traditional, cultural, master of that type, meaning that, there used to be many blacksmiths on Guam, especially during the Spanish period in which most people survived, by living off the land, farming and so on. But after World War II and dramatic changes to life, nearly all of them did not pass on the knowledge to their children, their grandchildren, or take any apprentices. And so my grandfather was basically the youngest blacksmith before the war. He--when the Japanese invaded Guam in 1941, he was 21 years old, and he had learned blacksmithing from the age of nine from his father. And then he also learned how to weld, as a machinist from the US Navy. And so, so my mother, you know, so my, my mother's family had roots in Guam. My mother and father met in Hawaii, and, they stayed together for a number of years. They had, three children together, and then they got divorced.

00:02:28Bevacqua: And so my upbringing was a lot of moving back and forth between California and Guam, sort of moving back and forth between families. And then the most fascinating phase of it was a year and a half, a two year stint, in which my dad worked for the US State Department in a US farming aid program in the 1980s. And so we did live, for less than two years, in the country of, in the southern African country of Swaziland. So I was just like five years old at that time, or a little--five or six years old. And so growing up, I don't feel like I had a particularly strong sense of my identity as a person from Guam, as a Chamorro person. Part of it was just moving around from different places. And then also part of it too was that my mother's generation and then my generation, we represented in many ways, sort of the impacts of Americanization policies, kind of put out there by the US Navy, which had taken Guam in 1898 via the Spanish American War. And so Chamorro's after World War II had kind of put into hyperdrive this push to Americanize themselves. To stop speaking their language, to sell their land, to jump into sort of the wage economy, to leave the island behind and move to the states where they could, you know, finally, touch what they could only see in JC Penny catalogs that came to the island. When I was growing up on Guam it was fascinating because the television--the ads and the shows that were shown on television were recorded on cassette tapes on the west Coast of the United States, and then they were mailed every single day to Guam. So you watched shows like Dallas or LA Law two weeks after they initially premiered in California and in the United States. And so--and then eventually this was kind of brought down to just one week, and then now you can kind of watch them because of, you know, satellite technology. You can watch them the day of and so on. But that feeling of growing up and like constantly being fed these ideas of the United States, like, especially through media, but then kind of always never being able to realize it or find it on the island. It definitely did--It definitely did a number on me, and I think a lot of others in my generation where there was this feeling like, you need to leave the island. You need to kind of forget being a Chamorro, forget Guam, you know, head out to the States.

00:05:20Bevacqua: Like a case in point for that is growing up, there was always ads for a place called Raging Waters (water park in LA). And kids, my generation, like desperately wanted to go to Raging Waters. And it was ridiculous because Guam has amazing beaches and it has waterparks and water slides already. Why would there be this cachet about Raging Waters? But it is sort of this, this kind of, this lure of--this colonial lure. The United States kind of is up here, and then we're constantly striving to kind of reach it. And in--and what happens as a result is that we kind of devalue, we set aside, we throw away the things that we, the things that we have. And so when I was growing up, I didn't care much about being Chamorro. In fact, I was growing up in the 1980s at a time where what we refer to today as the Chamorro renaissance, which is kind of like the cultural awakening. The Chamorro empowerment movement, which, which, in the seventies was initially called like the Brown Power Movement after sort of similar movements in the United States. It was starting to take root, but it hadn't really reached the wider population. And so even, the word that we used to refer to ourselves was in flux. So the word that we had used, that we used for ourselves for hundreds of years, perhaps thousands of years, of course, Chamorro. But after the United States had defeated the Japanese and returned, there was this feeling that we needed to show loyalty to the United States, that a new era had begun. And so part of this came then that the leaders of the Chamorro people actually proposed renaming themselves. And so instead of Chamorro, which was difficult for Americans to comprehend, difficult for them to pronounce, which could confuse them, instead what they did is they actually had a poll--polls in the late 1940s in which they put it to villages to ask them, which of these options do you approve? And there was options like Guamerican Guamanian, Guamian, Guamese. And so one of the highest vote getters was Guamerican. But the US Navy at that time informed Chamorro leaders that you are not to call yourselves Guamericans, 'cause you're not Americans. And so the one of the--the next highest--then because of sort of the war and sort of ill feelings towards the Japanese, which had occupied the island brutally for 32 months, Guamese was absolutely out. So Guamanian is what stuck. And so for two generations, Chamorros referred to themselves in this era of Americanization, this blitz of Americanization. They referred to themselves as Guamanians. So when I was growing up, there was--the conversation was starting about whether we should keep calling ourselves Guamanians or whether we should go back to calling ourselves Chamorro. And so it was a very confusing time.

00:08:40Bevacqua: But I wasn't as a young person, and even into my teens, I wasn't somebody who cared a lot about these issues because, I didn't have a strong sense of my own identity. My grandfather, I mentioned, had been a cultural master. He had trained a number of apprentices. But the fact that his grandchildren couldn't speak Chamorro or the fact that he saw us as being too Americanized and too Westernized meant that he wouldn't teach us. My grandmother always teased him saying well, (speaking in Chamorro) who raised them? We raised them. We raised them because we wanted Americans. And now we can't be angry at them. We wanted Americans, we got Americans. And now you complain when they don't--when they only wanna look out for themselves. So my grandparents were always a balance on each other. My grandfather sort of--but eventually I did develop sort of a strong connection to my cultural identity. But it happened in a number of sort of convoluted ways. And a lot of it actually happened out here in San-- not in San Diego, but here in California when I was away from the islands that, my mother, had married our dad and then divorced. She had moved us back to Guam to live with her parents. We were there for a few years. And then she had met somebody else when we were visiting her sister in California, in the Central Coast near Pismo Beach, Arroyo Grande. And so she just on a whim, because she had fallen in love, decided to move us all out there. Which was very jarring and shocking because for me, I wasn't, I didn't like love Guam. I wasn't gonna like die for Guam. But I also--California was not my home. And so when we came out to California, I liked it in some ways. I didn't like it in other ways. And this especially became, so as I moved into high school years, and I ended up in a school in a city, it's called Atascadero, which has a, like a mental, State hospital, and then it has an In-N-Out burger. And so it's--it was a very weird place for me because my mother had married a man who I had issues with at that time because they loved each other, but they also basically reinvented the Brady Bunch with us. My mom had three kids. Charles, my new stepdad had three kids, and we all lived in a three bedroom house. And then they had one more kid together. And so it was tough because, you know, for me, you know, the more that I was out in the States and as I was getting older, like I felt like I didn't belong in the States. And a lot of this I didn't share with my family because I didn't know who to talk to about this sort of thing. There was no other people from Guam in the area, just my mom, my siblings, and then my aunt who lived 40 miles south. But I would go to my--I would go to school, like the high school there, and I would get like hazed and harassed by like the white kids with the giant belt buckles and the big cowboy hats, because they saw me as being some sort of like weird Latino kid. But then I would also get harassed by Latino kids, 'cause they saw me as being like a fake Hispanic kid who wasn't like cholo enough, who wasn't--who was like fronting that I was white or--and so I was like-- it was--I was getting harassed and I was getting into fights, like on both sides. And it like really frustrated and angered me.

00:12:20Bevacqua: And it eventually--like left where I like ran away from home. For a while and went to go stay with friends. And my mom, who, you know, who at that time I was very, I was not a good son. I was a very unpleasant sort of like 16-year-old to her. She was very patient. She was very loving. I don't think that she could really understand what I was feeling 'cause I think, you know, for her it's just, she's okay being out here in California. And I didn't nearly know how to talk about what I was feeling. I had no idea. But if something happened in my life though, that changed everything, was that once I-I decided to finish high school early. So I tested out of high school and then, because I hated going to high school. I went to like five different high schools in like a semester because I had trouble acclimating. I even went to like a, (coughs) excuse me--like a high school for juvenile delinquents because of my behavioral problems at that time. And so I decided to take the test in which you can just do your high school proficiency. So then I could just start going to college and then figure out what I wanted to do. And at that time, I was kinda lost. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but my, my grandparents who were in Guam, my mom's parents, you know, they were hearing about all the stuff I was going through. They had come out at one point because my grandfather had heart surgery at Stanford. And so they, they basically--my grandmother told me, just come stay with us. Just come home and stay with us. You can stay here. We have a car you can use. Just come home and stay with us. And so I just decided to. And it was--it took a few years, but eventually this is--this was a choice that completely changed my life because I wasn't --it--the homecoming wasn't like that I suddenly like got on my knees and I said, I am a Chamorro. I love my culture, I love my identity, I'm proud. But I came home and I found that I liked, even though I was, you know, I'm half Chamorro and I, you know, I'm a little bit lighter skinned than a lot of Chamorros and I can't speak Chamorro. I found that I was more comfortable and Guam than being out here. I found I liked that my family was out there, so I had roots. So if I felt like I didn't have a place to go, I still had a family. If I didn't know where I belonged, I had my grandparents and I could always kind of turn to them as like a, so even if I felt lost, I could just go hang out and, you know, just take my grandparents for a drive and take them to a funeral and then go eat lunch, you know, at a restaurant with them and just hang out with them. And then I felt like, like home.

00:15:16Bevacqua: And so all of these experiences though, connecting with my grandparents really like, changed my perspective. Where I started to get more interested first in kind of the history of our people a little bit in the culture. I started to, at first when I started going to the University of Guam, I just wanted to like, take class in like English literature, I wanted to go into an MFA program for art. But towards the end of my undergrad, I started to take classes in like Guam history and Micronesian history, Pacific Island history. 'cause I realized like I wanna know more about this place that we come from. And so, like, my whole life changed when, in my last year at the University of Guam, I had to pick my foreign language requirement. And I had already taken one semester of Spanish at a community college here in California. And so I was trying to decide should I take another language or should I just take Spanish? And I was gonna take Spanish. I signed up for Spanish. And then when I got in there, it was so hard, like I realized that it had been like three years since I had taken Spanish and I had forgotten all the Spanish because the teacher just put on a telenovela and I had no idea what anybody was saying. And so I was at the breakfast table with my grandparents and my mom's oldest sister, my Auntie Eleanor. And then I was asking them, I was like, man, what language should I take? There's always this pressure to take Japanese 'cause that's for the longest time, that's the biggest bulk of the tourists to Guam, Japanese. There's all these language classes there. And so I was trying to figure out--and then my Auntie Eleanor, who was always very blunt, she said, that's a stupid question, Miget. Aren't you Chamorro? You should take Chamorro if you're Chamorro, you're not Spanish. You should take Chamorro. Aren't you a real Chamorro? And at that time, I did not feel like I was a real Chamorro at all, but I felt challenged. And so I said, okay, I'm gonna take Chamorro. And so I decided to, and I thought in my-- in sort of the smaller sort of more fragile parts of my brain, I thought I took Spanish. Chamorro was just like Spanish. We were colonized for a few hundred years. This should be easy, right? I was like the worst student in the class. I was so bad 'cause I had--a lot of the students in the class had grown up in Guam. So a lot of things they were already familiar with because in Guam, if you go to the public school, you take several years of Chamorro language. So things are very familiar. You may not be fluent, but you at least are familiar with certain songs, with certain, like pledges, certain words, vocabulary. I didn't know any of it. And so my professor, who is now a master storyteller in our culture, he teased me 'cause he knew my grandfather. And he's like, Miget, your grandfather is so very Chamorro and you are so very not Chamorro. You are a shame for your family. You bring shame to your family because I was so bad. And everyone was--and the thing is, like, I was--everyone knew me as being smart.

00:18:32Bevacqua: I was always good in my classes. I was like the kid from California, like the Chamhaole Chamorro haole, the Chamorro white kid from California who talks a lot in the classes and does well, we can ask him for help with your homework. But in this class, I was so bad. And it was a very humbling experience. Some of the students who sat behind me who were pretty good in Chamorro, they would tease me. They would feed me answers and embarrass me. So there was a--there was a girl who I kind of had a crush on who sat on the other side of the class. And I would look at her sometimes and I would be like, man, Maria's so good at Chamorro and, but I'm so bad at Chamorro. I should get better at Chamorro than maybe Maria will like hang out with me or something like that. Because, you know, Maria, like, you know, she's learning to say the pray the Catholic prayers in Chamorro from her family, she's super Chamorro compared to me. And so the guys that sit behind me, they like whispered some stuff to me, and they told me to say this. And so after class, when I said it to her, it was very offensive. It's one of the most offensive things you can say in the Chamorro language,

00:19:40Ho: Oh no!

00:19:46Bevacqua: that I said to her. And so she hasn't spoken to me since, but,

00:19:48Ho: You can't tell us what it is?

00:19:49Bevacqua: Oh, so the word is, Chada Nana-mu, so it means it's--you're your mother's eggs, as in you're your mother's vagina.

00:19:55Ho: Oh dear...

00:19:56Bevacqua: So it's like a, it's the equivalent of like Chamorro for 'motherfucker'. And so I didn't--I had no idea 'cause my grandparents spoke Chamorro to each other, but my grandmother was very religious and she did not allow any cursing in Chamorro in the house. So I didn't even know curse words in Chamorro. Everyone else knew at least the curse words. I didn't know that. And that was super embarrassing. But all of these experiences were important because then what I had to do is that I had to go and I had to ask my grandparents for help with my homework. And my grandfather said, no. You know, and my grandmother said, absolutely. My grandmother was very excited to help me. And so she would sit with me and sometimes she would walk me through the homework and sometimes she would just do my homework for me. And so after a few weeks, my professor would be like, Miget, why is it that your written Chamorro is so good, but your spoken Chamorro is still so bad? And I'd be like, oh, I'm just, I need time to prepare professor. I just need time to prepare and then I got it. And so my grandmother was like, she was loving it. And the more that I went through this, the more I realized that like, my grandparents spoke more to each other, but they did not speak it to their children. So part of the legacy of the 20th century when the United States came into Guam is that one of the earliest things that they proposed is that the Chamorro language be banned in public spaces. So it was banned for the most part in schools. Children were punished. You might have to drink castor oil If you drink--if you speak Chamorro. You might get slapped on the fingers with a ruler. You might have to wear a dunce cap. There was like jars akin to swear jars where you have to pay a fine if you're caught speaking Chamorro. And children were encouraged to report on each other too. So eventually some teachers, some principals, created English clubs in which Chamorro children wore badges that said, "Speak English", "English only." And then they went around finding children speaking Chamorro and then they turned them in to get them in trouble.

00:22:12Bevacqua: And so this created like an atmosphere in which--my-- for people in my grandparents' generation, they could all speak Chamorro, but the idea of passing the language on to the next generation was fraught with, it was fraught with peril because the school system, the United States, all of these things, all these pressures had basically convinced you that while the language is good for you to speak to your parents, good to speak to your peers, you shouldn't be using it with your children. The language shouldn't go on. And so what we've seen since then is ever since World War II, the language just completely declines to the point now where 80% of the Chamorro people in the world cannot speak their language. Including in the Mariana's Islands and then out here. And so my--so I didn't know much of this, but, when I came to my grandmother, though, she was so eager to help me and what was beautiful about it is that I was your typical sort of 19 and 20-year-old. And I'm very upfront about it 'cause I think sometimes people can be very--sometimes people can be very idealized. I was very upfront--I'll be very upfront, like I was a 19 and 20-year-old who did not want to hang out with my grandparents all the time. I had a car, I had friends, I had other things I wanted to do. So sometimes if my grandmother said, Mike, can you take me to the store? I might make something up. So I didn't have to. Or if she said, can you take me to a funeral? I would say, oh, I have homework. And so I don't--you know, I am very real about that because I loved my grandmother, but I didn't have this strong connection to her yet. But learning Chamorro from her gave me like a very strong connection. Because the more I sat with her at the breakfast table and the dinner table, and the more that we talked and the more that she shared, the more I realized that actually I would much rather be sitting at that table with her than going to any club or any bar going and hanging out with friends.

00:24:30Bevacqua: And so I decided after taking the first level of Chamorro, I took the second level of beginning Chamorro. And like the second class I was having fun. Like, I went above and beyond, you know, like we had an assignment where you had to like translate an English song in Chamorro. I worked with my grandma to translate a bunch of songs into Chamorro. So I was like, grandma, can you help me translate? "Hey Jude" (Hey Jude by The Beatles) my grandma's like, hafa enao "Hey Jude", what's, "Hey Jude", what's that? And I'm like, here, ni ta ekungok, let's listen to it. And then she listened to it and then we sat there for a while translating, "Hey Jude". And then eventually after we had the lyrics, you know, we sat there just singing it in Chamorro together. And it was so much fun. We translated "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" (Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers) into Chamorro. And it was like glorious because I realized that my--like I had lived with my grandparents a lot. I had sat in the cars with them. I had sat next to them in churches I had sat with next to them at parties. This didn't mean I talked to them a lot. This didn't mean I knew a lot about them. But once I came to my grandmother and my grandfather and I started to ask them for help in Chamorro, suddenly my grandmother was telling me things and talking to me. And I loved it. I loved it so much. And so after I finished my two Chamorro classes, I asked my grandmother in my very broken Chamorro I said, (speaking Chamorro), can you talk to me (in) Chamorro? And my grandmother was so happy. And my grandmother then shared that when she had been a teacher before World War II in the 1930s, 1940s, she had had to punish Chamorro children for speaking the language. And she hated it. She thought it was wrong. She did not like it. But those were the rules. And the Americans created the rule and then Chamorro principles and other Chamorro teachers enforced those rules. And so she couldn't challenge it, but she was so happy. My grandmother was a quiet woman that never like very rarely ever protested or spoke out directly, but she always whispered that more people need to stand up for the Chamorro people. And so when I told her I wanted to--when I wanted to learn Chamorro, she said, more people need to learn Chamorro, this is good. My grandfather resisted at first, he did not want to speak to me in Chamorro. He would tease me. And my grandfather and me always had a tough relationship in which he was always about teasing. But this is a normal thing. People experienced different types of trauma and people have different ways of dealing with that trauma. My grandfather had been, beaten by the Japanese during World War II. He had almost been executed along with his father and siblings by the Japanese during World War II. After the war, he had become the first Chamorro US immigration Officer. And his experience, there was something that I did not fully appreciate, until years after years when he would talk more openly and grandma would talk about it. But he was constantly made to feel like he was less than because he didn't speak good English. And so he--his resistance to sort of me speaking Chamorro. So for example, my grandfather, when I would ask him to help me with my Chamorro for the first few years, he would resist it just out of sort of insecurity. Like, I can't help you. Like why you wanna learn this language, this language stupid. It's useless. You should learn a language that people want to speak. All sorts of stuff like that. And so--but I persisted and eventually it changed my grandfather too. And so, you know, one of the things that me learning Chamorro did is that, you know, getting connected to my grandparents is that then I started enjoying spending time with them.

00:28:41Bevacqua: So my grandfather had a shop in which he displayed his tools and sold his blacksmithing tools at one of the night market Chamorro village areas. And, I had to go with him every Wednesday night to help sell him. I used to hate it now, I liked it. I got to help grandpa, I got to talk to people, and I got to practice my Chamorro. And then I showed more interest now in grandpa as a blacksmith too. I wanted to know about this part of our culture. And so I left, you know, when I, left in, 2004 to start my PhD out here in California, I was learning Chamorro. And I was very sad because I thought like I was gonna lose my Chamorro ability 'cause I was gonna be away from my grandparents. Because I had gotten into this flow of--with my grandparents, where like I would before if my grandma said, can you take me to a funeral this week? I would be like, oh, grandma,I have a paper. Do I can't? But now I would wake up and I'd be like, Hey grandma, is there a funeral this week that I can take you to? 'cause I was excited to go and hold her hand and meet her friends and get to practice our language and then just hear their stories and then write them down. And then, this is when I started to do like my own oral history research--is that my grandmother would go with me and then we would sit with people, and like spend the afternoon taking down their stories. And it was so much fun. And so when I went out to the States for my PhD, I thought that this was gonna kind of like ruin my Chamorro, but it actually made my-- it made me miss my grandparents a lot. I called them just about every day to keep practicing. And then within a few years I came back and my grandfather had completely changed his kind of attitude to the end of his life, my grandfather said that my Chamorro is not the same as his Chamorro. And he would--he could sometimes be very mean about that. But when I came back in 20--2008 and I was starting to work on my dissertation, like something had shifted in him because by that time that I was, you know, I was getting a name for myself as somebody who cared about culture and language and I was maybe gonna be like a professor or something. And he--and people were telling my grandfather, you should be proud Mr. Lujan of your grandson. He can speak Chamorro. And so he was starting to shift. And so in 2008, my youngest--my younger brother and me both came back to Guam. And I asked my grandfather, you know--to if he wanted our help in his blacksmith shop. And for the first time he said yes. And that was, that was very life changing because he had always said no before. And he had always done it in a way that is very reminiscent of sort of like cultural artisans in which they basically say, yes, I will teach you, but you have to show enough initiative. So like--so if you don't show that you care enough, then they're not really gonna teach you. They're gonna say they're willing to teach you. But if it's clear that you don't care enough. So like for example, if you--so some people that would ask my grandfather to teach them, he would say, come to my house at like 10 o'clock on a Sunday. And then if they showed up at 10 o'clock and they didn't bring any food with them, then he would say, nevermind, you know, if you're serious, you should come earlier. You should bring something to eat. 'cause we got to eat. And so you gotta show that you care and you have to show that you respect the person you're learning from. And so learning from my grandfather, that was very life changing. And it was frustrating at times. But part of it was that my grandfather's--sort of his insecurity, his trauma around English, his trauma dealing with racism, like, I don't know if he ever kind of dealt with it in any full way, but at least me speaking Chamorro gave him some comfort when we were in the shop. He could speak English if he wanted to, but he could also speak Chamorro.

00:32:56Bevacqua: And sometimes he might tease my Chamorro, your Chamorro is not my Chamorro (speaking Chamorro). But we kept learning, making tools and it was, it was fun and it was cool. And all of this just solidified me as somebody who like cares about language, culture, history, people in like a very deep way. And so it-- and it's all because my grandparents, and it's all because of my connection to them. And it's all because I humbled myself to take the language from them, even if it may have taken a little while for my grandfather. And so I, I hold onto, (responding off camera) oh is it okay, okay. I hold onto to certain memories. 'cause now them, both of them have passed away. My grandmother passed away in 2013 and my grandfather passed away in 2015. And so I was so glad that my grandmother got to hear, one of her great-grandchildren speak Chamorro before she passed. And it was a very touching moment where we went over to visit and my oldest child who's now 17, you know, went to go, while I sat at the table with my grandfather and was talking, my oldest child who was just a young baby at that time, went over to go and sit with my grandmother in the living room. And you know, my grandmother came over after a few minutes and she put her hand on my shoulder and you know, she said to me, (speaking Chamorro) your daughter is speaking Chamorro. And I was like, yeah, (responding in Chamorro) because for me, every one of my children, from the moment they're born, I promised them (speaking Chamorro), I tell them, I will protect you with all of my life and then I will speak to you only in this language. And so my grandmother was like tearing and up and crying and she was rubbing my shoulder and I was like, (speaking Chamorro) grandma she's speaking Chamorro. And my grandmother was like, (responding in Chamorro) It's like a miracle, because after a while there's still thousands of Chamorro speakers, but they're all older. There's very few young Chamorro speakers. It's very rare to hear a baby speaking Chamorro or a child speaking Chamorro. And so I'm so glad that I got to have that moment with my grandmother to give her that moment and for me to have that moment. And even for my grandfather who towards the end of his life, he would not let go of blacksmithing even when he could no longer stand on his own. We would have to wheel him down into the shop and he was in a walker and we would've to hold him up so that he could work.

00:35:55Bevacqua: And even when his eyesight started to go, he was still better at shaping blades and sharpening blades than I was. But towards the--in like the last few months of his life, he told me, you know, (speaking Chamorro) our Chamorro's not the same, but I'm happy that you're speaking Chamorro. And I think that was the best I was ever gonna get from Grandpa in terms of acknowledgement. But all of this though, basically made it so that what was something that was not important to me at all, the Chamorro language, has become something that is like supremely important to me--wanting to share.--having like that experience when I was trying to learn Chamorro in Guam in the early two thousands and having that experience of working with my grandmother and then trying to find elders to help me practice, but then realizing that fewer and fewer people can speak the language. So when I was like 21 years old, I would map out my day to always try to find the Chamorro speakers. When I go to a grocery store, who is the cashier that can speak Chamorro. And I go to them. You know, if I go to like a clinic, which is the nurse that can speak Chamorro, and then I'll try to talk to that person. And then--but realizing that for a lot of people, if they wanna learn Chamorro, it's gonna be really difficult just because they may encounter somebody--like they're--they may not have somebody who's as generous as like my grandmother. 'cause my grandmother was like the kindest soul ever. When I would like create atrocious Chamorro sentences, my grandmother would say, I wouldn't say it like that. Why don't you try saying it like this? My grandfather would just be like, it's wrong lachi' it's wrong. That's--or he would tease me, what's that? Tagalog? Is that Tagalog? He would just tease me. And most Chamorros, because of their own kind of insecurities around the language, especially being punished for speaking Chamorro, like they'll just tease. 'cause they don't want to deal with like the trauma involved. So what I did is, even though I got a degree in Ethnic Studies, which was not about language revitalization, I just decided to make language revitalization a big part of my life. I decided to make sure that my kids can speak Chamorro, but I also decided that I would help the community. And so for the past 15 years I've had free language classes in the community. At first they started off in a smoothie shop and then they started--and then they went to coffee shops. And sometimes like two people, three people would be there. I would put up a flyer or later put up just a note on Facebook saying, free Chamorro lessons, just come down. If somebody buys me a drink, I'll teach you Chamorro. And sometimes there'd be a few people, sometimes there'd be 20 people and it would ebb and flow. But for me it was just important because there's classes that you can take on Guam, you can sign up for a class in the University, but there needs to be more spaces than that. And so for me it was just like, come to a coffee shop and I'll give you--I'll just give you some lessons in Chamorro. 'cause some people don't have the money or don't have the time to go and sign up for like a full on class.

00:39:31Bevacqua: And so I kept these language classes going on Guam for a very long time. And it was pretty interesting because over the years, so many people kind of filtered through them. People who were like poli-- eventual politicians, activists, radical scholars. People would come on island and just like hang out at them just to kind of see what is this language class here? And the classes would be all types because they would be basically based on like whatever people were feeling. So sometimes it would be handouts with like a formal lesson. And then sometimes if people had a little bit more fluency, we would just play games in Chamorro. So like we would play Clue in Chamorro or we would play Scrabble in Chamorro. And then, we even played Dungeons and Dragons in Chamorro. And so sometimes we would just listen to music and then translate songs. And so it would just change depending on whoever came and whoever was coming. And so it was a very--it was a wonderful organic community space for language learning. And then the pandemic happened. And at that point I had maybe like 20 or 30 people who are coming every Friday, excuse me, every Saturday to the classes. And I just put it out to them in our WhatsApp chats like, well, I don't know when this is over the pandemic. Do you just want to meet on Zoom? And everyone said yes. And I said, well, are you okay if I also just like invite people online? I'll just put it out online too and say free Chamorro classes people can sign up and, and come, and when I say sign up, you just need to get the Zoom link and then you can just join. There's no formal sign up, there's no fees. You just have to come and then hang out. And I wasn't prepared for how like successful it was. In the first year, in 2020, we broke my Zoom 'cause there was a limit that I didn't know about where you could only have a hundred people. So then I had to like upgrade my Zoom for more people. And so that was--and then at the high point, like in August of 2020, over the course of three hours, because I would offer three levels, beginner, beginner, two, and then intermediate. There was 300 people in the class.

00:42:00Ho: Wow.

00:42:00Bevacqua: And I'm always careful because people come to the class at different stages and for different reasons. So some people come are very serious learners. They want to study. They're going to come up with a plan for learning. Other people just feel the word in Chamorro is mahalang, meaning lonely, isolated, homesick. They just don't have any Chamorros around them. Maybe they're the only Chamorro in their corner of Wyoming or Vermont and maybe they've left the islands or maybe they are somebody where their family migrated to the United States in the fifties or sixties and then erased what it means to be Chamorro. Not just the language, but then even just-- 'cause I've encountered so many students where they wouldn't even use the word Chamorro at all because of pressures to assimilate or perhaps feelings of racism that were internalized. And so students come into the classes and they just are so excited to be in a space where like, I'm a Chamorro, I don't know what it means. Is it okay to be here? And I'm like, yeah, this is a space for everybody. Like you don't have to be the smartest Chamorro. You don't have to be the best Chamorro just--and you don't even have to be Chamorro. 'cause a bunch of people have Chamorro wives or husbands or partners or they have a-- like even in the program that we have now, four of the people in our immersion program here are not Chamorro. And so from this program, it's like, it's grown huge. And when I say people join because they have different needs and they're at different points, it's so true. Some people will turn on their cameras and they will take copious notes. Other people, you know, will basically be driving, you know, driving in their car, who knows where, other people will be cooking with their family, other people--one of my favorites is when one of the students had her camera off, but sometimes when she turned it on, it was clear that she was a nurse in a hospital. So her camera accidentally went on and like, she was in the hospital in the class. And like there was like a someone they were working on. And I was just like, Hey, it's okay. Go take care of that person and then you can come back. We understand, we appreciate your love of our language and culture, but don't worry it'll be here go, go help that person. But so that's-- for me, that's-- yeah, for me, as somebody who learned the language as a second language, it's key, right? Because, languages, you know, it's key to have a variety of spaces to meet a variety of needs. Sometimes people assume that you need one space or like one proposal, and that's simply not the case. Certain types of learners can use certain types of programs of learning, but heritage learners are so different. Heritage learners of languages even--are so dramatically different because even the excitement that somebody feels in learning the language can block them in learning the language. Because what they feel like, I should, I should be able to say this. I'm Chamorro. Doesn't my DNA give me an advantage? Your DNA doesn't really give you an advantage. Like there's ways that you--there's ways that your sort of, your spiritual connection, your cultural connection, it can help you. But it's not like downloading an app.

00:45:39Bevacqua: And so from,--so June (June Pangelinan), and most people that are in the immersion program that we're having here at San Marcos, they were my Zoom language students. So June Pangelinan started--and Clarissa Mendiola, they started in, 2020. And then June actually came to Guam the following year. And she met with me. 'cause I work at the, as the curator at the Guam Museum. And she met with me when I was giving a number of my language students who had come on island at the same time. She met with me after I gave them a tour of the museum. And she asked me, she said, you know, coming to Guam and then like, finding that like my family, even those who speak Chamorro won't speak Chamorro to me. And I know it's hard for people to understand because there's, there's thousands, there's still tens of thousands of Chamorro speakers. But you also have to remember that they're not there to serve you and the language. So you have to create a relationship with them. And sometimes students have trouble with that 'cause they feel like, my grandma speaks Chamorro, she should just speak to me in Chamorro. Your grandma has a lot of--there's a lot of issues involved. Like, you need to, you know, you need to make your grandma feel loved and trusted and cared for. Like your grandma probably, she may have been a survivor of World War II in Guam, the Japanese occupation, she was probably punished for speaking Chamorro. So when you say, hey, just speak to me in Chamorro, you're like bumping up against a lot of things and you can help her get past those things, but your desire for her to teach you is not enough. She's got a lot of blocks and you can help her get through those. But part of it is decentering the self, not learning through the ego, not learning through the ego. That's like, that's the danger for heritage learners learning through the ego. It's the worst. So June had had that experience where she had like prepared herself to be on Guam and then her family that spoke Chamorro, like really didn't speak Chamorro to her. Like she tried, but they wouldn't, they would just speak English to her. And it's--the dynamics are tricky. 'cause for most people you wanna be understood, right? And for most people, we have cognitive maps of the world. We see people in languages. And so if you see a particular person, a particular body, if there's a particular place, a lot of times our minds assign a language to it instinctively. And it doesn't mean you can't use any language there, but what happens is that your brain part of it will fire up and you'll enter--So like when I walk in here, oh, English, English. But when I go, you know, if I go into my grandma and grandpa's house, oh, Chamorro, Chamorro. And so having people kind of understand that. But so for June, she asked me, she's like, do you think it would be possible to create like a program, like an immersion program where students can like level up their learning? And I was like, of course. Will you help organize it? Because if you agree to help, then I will absolutely teach it and I will help organize it, but I just don't have the time or ability to like run the program. And so June, as they say in Chamorro, geftao, very, very generous, gof geftao. She took that task on in 2022. And then her and then Clarissa took the task on in 2023 the second year. And then this year we decided to bring it out to the diaspora because there are far more Chamorros that live out in the diaspora than live in the islands at this point. But there's almost no infrastructure out here for language learning. And so, it's been beautiful. It's been beautiful. Like, creating these spaces. It's also very exhausting. This type of work is so exhausting, but seeing sort of people come to the culture, come to the language, even just hearing the differences from day one to day five in terms of how much Chamorro they're using, it's difficult because we don't practice sort of like an aggressive immersion model. Because I always tell people, you know, aggressive immersion models can be effective, but they are also not fun.

00:50:13Bevacqua: Like, one of our participants in the first year, Jesse Lujan Bennett, she has a--her husband is Maori and he-- she was in a Chamorro immersion program, he was in a Maori immersion program that same year. And so in our program, people were like crying every day about sort of their identity, coming to terms with things. And then Jesse asked her husband, are you guys crying every day? And he's like, no? It's a language immersion program. Why would we like do that? We're here to learn a language. And so--but it's a--one of these things is-- so one of --at least for me, the way that I see it is that it's a language and culture immersion program. And so what you're doing is you're giving people this robust connection to language and culture. You're giving them language for sure, but you are also trying to forge a connection that will increase the chances that they will continue to learn, or that they will continue to take up to Chamorro causes, whether at their work, in their family, in in life, social media, whatever. But just so that in--because--and it's kind of tricky because yeah, we're in the classroom all day and then part of me just wants to say no. Like, if you just wanna learn the language, then there has to be less space for you to talk about your feelings. But I also recognize that if you do that, then people may come away from this and say well--'cause this is the danger of second, you know, heritage learners, is that they don't have to learn the language. There's oftentimes not like a--there's a desire to learn it, perhaps like an identity based desire to learn it. But if it's unpleasant, then they simply will stop learning it. And so that's like the balance for it. If it's a bootcamp, then they'll just stop learning.

00:52:16Bevacqua: And so that's the trade off. That's the trade off is trying to find a balance there where people get as much of the language as possible, but they also have the space where they can kind of come express their identity, talk about their feelings. Which unfortunately because of where they're at in their language level, has to be in English. And then--but fundamentally though, all of this puts them in a better position that they will come back to the Zoom classes to keep learning, or they will take up learning in another way in their family. Because this is about permeating the foundation of who they are as opposed--So oftentimes what we say is more than words, sort of the more aggressive language immersion models are words, words, conversation. You give people that and that's what they regurgitate. We have a more holistic model, which has its advantages, has its dis disadvantages, but it is rooted in this idea of that we are shaping sort of the larger person and their identity. So that hopefully yeah, they won't--this isn't their only experience in learning Chamorro. (Glances at the clock) Oh yeah. Five more minutes..

00:53:31Ho: Oh wow! May I ask a question?

00:53:38Bevacqua: Sure.

00:53:38Ho: I wanted to go back to 16-year-old you when your grandparents invited you to come home. What made you decide to say yes? Like what were you--where was your mind when you said yes? Was there any hesitation.

00:53:55Bevacqua: At that time--there was definitely some hesitation, but at that time I was just really unhappy with sort of being in where my family was living in California and then just not knowing who I was. And not having any ability to like--not having any real answers. And, yeah. And so looking back on it, and I think part of it too, at least at that time, I was feeling frustrated with my mom and my stepdad and I wanted to kind of get a break from them and get away. And then on Guam I would be more free with my grandparents. And so I think a lot of it came down to that, just wanting to kind of get away. And I wouldn't have admitted at that time that I had questions about who I was. But, I definitely had those questions. I had no idea, like I didn't know where I fit in. And it's always been difficult for me as sort of like a--as a mixed race man with light complected, skin, dark, you know, sometimes dark features, dark hair, and then sometimes sort of passing, sometimes not passing and then never knowing when it's gonna work. So even like where my mom stayed in California in Atascadero, like I remember as a teenager looking for a job and I just went--there's a help wanted sign in like some sort of like antique store. And then I walked in and then like the owner basically says, no, not you, not your kind out. And I was just like, what? And I was just like--I mean, it was a very racially segregated town at that time. I mean, now it's a little bit more gentrified as people move up to escape cities and stuff. But at that time it was basically a lot of, farms and stuff and people that worked on the farms and people that owned the farms. And so--but it was everywhere I went. So like, I remember walking into a comic bookstore in San Luis Obispo once and I was walking around 'cause I didn't have a car 'cause my mother was working and I was waiting for her to finish. And then I just had found a stick and I was walking aong--so I was just like walking with like a stick. And then like, I walked into the store and then the owner was like, you need to get out of here. We don't allow weapons in here. And I'm like, it's just, it's just a stick. He's like, no, no. That's a deadly weapon in the right hands. And I'm like, I don't know how to use it as a deadly weapon. And he's like, you need to get outta here. And I'm just like, what? So it was like--I didn't--so this--these sorts of things happened a lot like in just these ways. That was always like surprising. And one of the things that always was hurtful for me was that my--the middle brother Jack. So there's, from my mom and my dad, there's Jack--there's me, Jack and Jeremy. And then my middle brother Jack is very white passing. And so when we would--like, so when we would go into places, like he would never get harassed or never like--but then I would sort of get like rude treatment or get followed in stores and stuff like that. And so like --and so it was just sort of like this weird thing like where do I belong? Like what is this?

00:57:24Bevacqua: I don't even understand like why people hate me or don't like me. And I had--didn't have enough consciousness at that time to even like be like a brown power sort of person or like racial consciousness. It just, it just sucked. And it made me angry at my father, my white father. 'cause he definitely didn't understand a lot of that. 'cause my white father at that time, both of my parents kind of didn't understand. They just saw me as being sort of like a rebellious teen. And then even my brother didn't quite understand at that time either. And so, going to Guam made perfect sense because I--it took a little while, but I found a place where I belonged. Yeah. And that was like a great feeling. just like thinking--and I feel it here too, when my kids, who are my teenagers who are here with us, when they're go around and they sort of feel--they kind of like it that you go around in San Marcos and no one knows you. And I'm like, yeah, I know that. But then after a while, you might miss the fact that no one knows you. 'cause I start to miss that if I'm in the States for too long and you don't know anybody. I miss that. 'cause yes, it is draining and exhausting to be on a small island where lots of people know you and you have all these connections and obligations, but it's also a full life. And so for me, what I loved about going home was that I became tun Jack's--tun is a sign--a marker of respect, tun Jack Lujan's grandson. And that gave me a place, and it was a place that I struggled with sometimes, but I eventually came to like it. Representing my grandfather, representing my family. You know, I'm not the one that you go to if you want food for the party, but if you want a lecture about, you know, Guam history, I'm the one that you go to if you want research on our family background. I'm the one that you go to if you want something translated into Chamorro, I'm the one that you go to. And so finding a place that was going back to Guam was kind of the start of that. And then not knowing, you know, just all of this kind of ambiguity. And then finally realizing like going home and then standing next to my grandparents and then being their grandson, and then feeling the pressure off of me. Like, oh, I'm their grandson. This--these are my roots. And at first, not liking that a lot, but then eventually accepting it and embracing it and liking it and enjoying it a lot. But, so that's, that's one of the reasons why.

01:00:18Ho: Your grandparents obviously had a huge influence on you. And you also spoke briefly by your Auntie Eleanor. Can you tell me who--what other people had a profound effect on, on your life path, whether or not they were personal connections or even, public figures who you looked up to at the time, and now whether they're in your community or not?

01:00:42Bevacqua: Oh, yeah. Let me think here. There's a number of people that I could definitely highlight. I'm trying to think if I want to do more language focused or--

01:00:57Ho: Yeah. Maybe a, maybe a bit of both.

01:01:06Bevacqua: So, yeah, one of the things that I like to do in the way that I teach and the way that I engage people is to kind of talk about sort of the figures from our history that can kind of inspire them to go past, their feelings of insecurity. So like, for example, yesterday we were focusing in the language immersion program on Chamorro music. And so we divided into groups. Groups had to sing some Chamorro songs. They also had to translate an English song into Chamorro and then sing it for everybody. And then today--oh, and then I talked about, for example, one of sort of the most famous Chamorro singers, a man named Johnny Sablan, who's still alive. And so I always use him as an example for learners, because when Johnny Sablan was 20 years old, he had already a career as like a teeny bopper recording English music in California. But he had an experience when he was going to college in Monterey, California, where he was part of like an ethnic culture club. An ethnic music club. And when his friends told him, Hey, Johnny, can you share some Guamese songs with us? And he realized, because Johnny Sablan could not speak Chamorro, he realized that he didn't know any Chamorro songs except for like religious songs, church songs. He didn't know any Chamorro songs. And so that experience, that experience basically led him then to go and seek out his elders and collect Chamorro songs. And then what he did is he sold his motorbike that he had in California, and he bought studio time. And instead of continuing to record in English, he decided to record the first ever Chamorro language album.

01:03:03Bevacqua: And I told the students, and I always remind students, and I say, he did this even though he wasn't fluent in Chamorro. So he recorded elders who worked with him to pronounce the words correctly, to help him memorize the words. And even when you hear that first album you can tell that he messes up. And even the Chamorro musicians who did the backup music teased him and said, what are you doing making a Chamorro record? You can't even speak the language. You shouldn't be doing this. And he said, somebody's gotta do it. And so I always tell them, I say, I always try to highlight the figures who push against the grain, who push back, because I always say, for my students in my work, I always invoke the saying, Anggen ti hita pues håyi? if not us, then who? So if Johnny Sablan hadn't recorded that first ever Chamorro vinyl record in 1968, when would that have happened? Who would've done it? Like, who was the right person to do it? 'cause people told Johnny Sablan, you're not the right person to do it. And so I love to share stories like that. So every time I start a a new Zoom class, I always present a figure from our history who was a pioneer in the language in some way to help inspire the students. And usually there're people that I knew who inspired me as well. So for me, I remained inspired by Johnny Sablan. 'cause that idea that you would put yourself out there when you couldn't even fluently speak Chamorro, but to make a whole record and then just put it out there, it's--in Chamorro they say matatnga, brave. It's audacious. And so for language learners, you need that nowadays. You need some bravery, you need some audacious. And so I'm always--I always like to share stories like that to inspire students and say, look, Johnny Sablan is now a symbol of Chamorro culture and language. He was where you are at now. He couldn't speak Chamorro. He had a grandmother who didn't speak English. So he kind of had to pantomime and make do, and he could understand a little bit with what she said. But he struggled in Chamorro. He could not speak it, but he said that every people have an identity. Every people have a song. And even if the songs that he makes are different, that the music, the instruments have changed. It's important that the Chamorro people have music just like everybody else.

01:05:45Bevacqua: And so I, I love that idea. Just like, don't get stuck up in the idea. Like, just do it.

01:05:53Ho: Have you ever met him?

01:05:54Bevacqua: Oh yeah. Oh yeah. I know Johnny, he's still around. He's still around. I always try to sit down with an interview for him, but he's been sick for a while. So he's difficult to interview nowadays. But one of these days I'll get to sit down and just spend the afternoon with him.

01:06:10Ho: Oh, I hope so. I have so many more follow up questions, but I think we have to wrap up, unfortunately.

01:06:19Bevacqua: Oh, no.

01:06:20Ho: Is there anything, feel free to (gestures at water) yeah.

01:06:24Bevacqua: Oh yeah.

01:06:26Ho: Is there anything else that you would like to say? Anything I should have asked about? Anything you want to cover? oh,

01:06:33Bevacqua: No, no. Thank you for letting me talk and ramble.

01:06:40Ho: Can I ask one more question?

01:06:42Bevacqua: Of course. Of course.

01:06:43Ho: You talk about your children a lot, your four kids. What kind of world do you want to see for them? Whether Chamorro related climate, anything. Like what's your vision for them?

01:06:55Bevacqua: Oh yeah. That was really one of the reasons why I started to teach the Chamorro language, was that I was speaking to my kids in Chamorro, my older kids, my current teenagers. And I was realizing though, that as they get older, there was no other kids their age that could speak Chamorro. They have no cousins that can speak Chamorro. There's some other children, 'cause there are like, immersion schools for youth that can, that are trying to bring up speakers. But in general, there was not speakers. And so I could see them that I would speak Chamorro to them, but for the rest of the world, they would just speak English and the language would kind of fade away. So I just started--so one motivation for starting just the organic community classes was just to try to get more people to speak Chamorro. And in a university, there's all sorts of issues, bureaucracy, and it can be very good to have that, but it can also be very problematic. So I just said, let's, let's do it as easy as possible, just a coffee shop and people show up and then, you know, so people take this on, not because they want credit, not because of this. People just show up because they wanna show up. And so I do feel definitely depressed at times because I know--so for example, with my two older children, they speak to each other in English. They speak to me only in Chamorro. And I only speak to them in Chamorro, but they speak to each other in English. And so it was something which I struggled with for a very long time. Trying to kind of get them more comfortable and confident in the language. But, but ultimately it's hard because there's no--studies show that, you know, that young children, they tend not to adopt the language of their families. They tend to adopt the language of their peers.

01:08:56Bevacqua: And so if there's no one speaking Chamorro around them, then kids aren't gonna like be picking up Chamorro. They're not gonna be using it 'cause they don't assign it social value. And they certainly don't assign social value to something from their parents at that time. So yes. But a lot of what I do is sort of related to trying to improve things for them. I've told, so Sumåhi, my oldest is 17 and Sumåhi's very good at writing in Chamorro. She serves as the youth representative for the Chamorro Language Commission in Guam. And she does not like to acknowledge it, but is a star for all of the students here. Everyone here like adores Sumåhi. 'cause they see her as like the future of the language. And so when I talk to my older kids, I tell them it's like, you know, there's gonna be a place for you in this language, in this culture. Like, I'm, creating a place for you. It's up to you what you wanna do with it. You don't have to accept it. You don't have to do what I say. Soon you'll be old enough that you can make your own choices. But I do hope that you come home, I do hope that you keep this alive and then--'cause the idea that this language has existed for thousands of years, but then within the lifetime of my children, it could disappear. Makes me very sad. And so for my older child, she understands it more. She definitely understands it more. Although she's trying to figure out things in terms of her own life choices, like where she wants to go to college and what she wants to do. And she doesn't really like the fame that she has. 'cause people on Guam come up to her and they say, Sumåhi, you're so cool. Sumåhi, you're so cool. Can I get a picture with you? And Sumåhi's like, who are you (Speaking Chamorro). Who's this person? And so--so yes. But in time I'm hoping-- I give them the space so that they don't have to participate if they don't want to and that they can do--They--But I always tell them, I hope you find your way back. 'cause this is, you know, this makes our family special, this makes us special. And so. Yeah.

01:11:29Bevacqua: 'cause what I always like to tell people is there's so many different ways that you can express love of your culture, of your identity, but your language is one that cannot be replaced with other sort of exchangeable forms. So I always tease people and say that you can buy a thousand shirts that express your cultural pride. You can make a thousand recipes that express your cultural pride. You can make a thousand pieces of jewelry, get a thousand tattoos all over your body. But none of those things, and all those things are important, but none of them replace the connection that your language gives you to your past. And so the difference though is that you still cannot buy your language the way you can buy a t-shirt, where you can buy a tattoo, where you can buy food. And so that's part of my goal here, is to impress upon people that your language is an irreplaceable part of your culture. And so for those of you who are--who wanna take on the task of keeping it alive, you keep alive a connection to our ancestors that, yeah, that is actually more durable and more powerful than a lot of the other things that you can buy at a festival or online. Yeah, yeah. It's true because, for the Chamorro people, we were the first people--we were likely the first people to settle the Pacific Islands to leave somewhere in Asia, in boats, in ships, and then settle the Marianas Islands 3,500 - 4,000 years ago. And so I always try to impress upon people that what we brought with us, a lot of that has changed dramatically. But in our language, so many of the words that we use today, those are the words that were first spoken with, the first breaths that came over with those first sellers.

01:13:46Bevacqua: And so it's a harder road to become fluent in your language, but it is a deeper connection. And so this is not to say that if you don't know your language, you are less of a Chamorro, but you cannot substitute your connection to your language with food tattoos or, or t-shirts. Yeah.

01:14:10Ho: Thank you.

01:14:14Bevacqua: (Coughs) Oh, excuse me.

01:14:14Ho: That's Alright. Thank you so much for chatting with me today, Michael.

01:14:17Bevacqua: Oh, no problem. To Michael.

01:14:19Ho: It was a pleasure.

01:14:21Bevacqua: Oh no, thank you.