Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...


Home: 'Aina

I've been back from home for over a week now. One would think that a week is sufficient time to swallow and digest everything from the trip, but my soul seems to churn through things much more slowly than I'd like at times. That doesn't necessarily make reflection hard, it just makes it a much more deliberate process.

That said, I think I'm going to do this in small portions, and in no particular order. There are aspects of the trip that I'll reflect upon freely and publicly; other aspects will be deliberated quietly and privately, and at most will be merely alluded to here. That said, I'll make my first bit of reflection an easy one.

Most people think of Hawai'i in vague, general terms. There's very little specifity to their thoughts, mostly because they've never actually experienced specific aspects of Hawai'i for themselves. Moon Pie had it right when he would continually point out that the pictures just didn't do the experience justice: there was always so much more to it than what the lens captured!

I'm not married. Never been married, not anywhere close to being married. No, this is not a lead-in to a pathetic plea for a date, but a lead-in to what will hopefully be a clear illustration. You see, for many married couples, if they were to be separated for any length of time, they'd likely experience a lot of pain. Being that I've never been married, it's really difficult for me to understand this sort of separation experientially. Sure, I've been separated from family and friends for years now, but such a separation is much different, I'm sure. Married couples can think of specific ways their spouse will look at them, speak to them, and generally act toward them. I? Well, I can shrug my shoulders and observe, "Well, it must be nice being able to count on eating an extra half a plate of food when you go out."

Being from Hawai'i -- and loving it tremendously -- has given me specific memories I can smile at when I think of my home. My friends from here, for the most part, have no idea what I'm talking about when I tell them that food there is just better. Nor, for that matter, can they relate to me when I tell them that I'd often watch a glorious sunset -- while surfing. They ask me questions about how far the beach is from where I lived, which immediately tells me that they never lived on an island, as no one who lived on an island ever asks that sort of question. You see, there's an intimate relationship I have with my home, one that transcends anything any visitor could ever gain.

Thus, being at home for a short time makes leaving even harder. I didn't sweat my way up Olomana, nor did I sit in the lineup at Kewalo's day after day after day as I used to. There was no chance to sit and hear the waves at Point Panic crash beneath me as the moon rose up over the Ko'olau mountain range behind me. A paddle out between the Mokuloa islands did not come to fruition, and would have loved to have lingered longer at Hale'iwa, Sandy's, Blowhole, 'Aiea, Nu'uanu, Pipeline, and Kewalo's.

Yet, somehow, those few short moments were enough...and are enough. Enough for what, you ask? Enough for me to close my eyes and taste the salty ocean, hear the crashing of the waves, smell the flowers near the shore, feel the lull and pull of the currents, and know that home is still just where I left it.

And...I smile.

posted by Bolo | 11:15 PM
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