Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

When I first boarded the plane that took me from Vancouver to Honolulu, a flight attendant casually asked me whether or not I was on my way home. I smiled at her and for some reason, I wasn't able to form a response. She carried on down the aisle, forgetting our conversation as she readied the plane for take off and I sat perplexed by this quesiton. Did I look Hawaiian to her? It wasn't until I fell completely in sync with the Hawaiian lifestlye that I understood her question. She wasn't asking if I resided in Waikiki, or went to school at the University. Behind her question lie a series of others...did I know the extent of change that would find me, did I understand the secrets of the ocean, was I aware of what awaited me outside the airport, and would I be able to recognize any of this if it wasn't blatantly placed infront of me.

My trip to Hawaii wasn't one bit of what I was expecting. It was as unpredictable as it was confusing, as tiresome as it was trivial, and to say that my boundaries were overlooked would be an understatement. But it was also more captivating and mind-blowing than I could ever have imagined. Every experience that I derived from this trip has become a reminder of the greatness that we choose to forget. By unleashing your greatest fears or even choosing to believe in yourself, you take one step closer to becoming the person you're meant to be.

So now, as I look back on the people I met or the adventures I took part in, I understand what the flight attendant meant. Home is where you will it to be. And for me, well I found it within.

Hell in a Hand Basket

In an earlier post, I had mentioned the struggles I had encountered whilst attempting the Hanauma Bay hike with Monica. Later, I moved on to more challenging, tropical scenery with Alexa when we trudged through the rainforest to Manoa Falls. Both of these hikes had one thing in common, they kicked my ass. But little did I know that Koko Head Mountain would be the cherry on top of my ever melting pile of achievements.

It all began when my interest in Koko Head became and obsession, and I took a verbal oath to reach its peak. I considerably over estimated my physical limitations even before I began the climb. The start to the hike is a mere 45 minute jont down the road from Claira's house, and already I could feel beads of perspiration forming on my body. With an optimistic smile plastered on my reddening face, I effortlessly began hopping up the stairs. About a hundred steps later, the spring in my step became a forced drag and my legs screamed in protest as I pushed on. Let me stop here and explain that Koko Head's "stairs" aren't really stairs at all. The path that leads to the peak consists of a 60 year old abandoned rail cart track with termite infested wooden beams and rusted steal frames. And don't be fooled by the enticing plateau you see at the beggining of the hike; the rail track archs up after the first leg of the mountain into what feels like a straight 90 degree angle. Sounds like a good place to take the family, right?

So, I managed to ignore my body's pleas for retreat until I came to the bridge. If I haven't mentioned it before, I'm not a very coordinated person and more often than not, my body tends to flake off and do its own thing. This, combined with my catastrophic fear of heights makes for an interesting story. But this isn't where I describe my epic plummet into the solemn valley below, no it's actually the opposite. I managed to cross the bridge in one piece, but was not impressed by what I found on the other side. As if it's even possible, the mountain took yet another stretch in the vertical direction, and I began to feel more inclined to treat the railroad tracks like a ladder rather than stairs. Trying not to look up, I trudged on. It wasn't easy for me to keep a steady pace; the uneven ground and my lack of cardiovascular skills voted against me. By this time, Alexa had long since passed me and I took a seat on a near by rock. From where I sat covered in sweat, dirt, and the willingness to give up, I could see further than any of the other hikes had allowed. In my head I ran through my reasons for continuing up the deadly mountain and not one of them stuck through my innate criticism. But, I had made a promise and I was going to see it through. My body was definitely not impressed. Climbing up the mountain as the sun began to creep over the horizon only added to the buckets of sweat that fell from my face, and my lack of water bottle put me on the path to steady dehydration. I began to feel light headed and dizzy and just as a wave of nausea hit me, a 60 year old woman and her shih tzu motored past me. How embarassing, outclimbed by the elderly. With a deep breath and quick re-evaluation of my body's physical condition, I slowly (and when I say slowly I mean at a sloth's pace) advanced up the mountain. To add to my ever growing embarassment, Alexa passed me on her way down, having already reached the top, waited for me for some time, and assumed that I'd given up. Now it was on. With clentched teeth and strained muscles, the same face of constipation I might add, I crested the mountain and celebrated with a few fist pumps in the air. After the celebration was over and I took in as much of the view as I could, I began the slow hike downhill. With my entire lower body trembling from the strain I placed on it, my legs morphed into jello and the rest of the descent became more of an clumsly tumble.

I collapsed beside Alexa instantly after reaching the bottom. Atop a grassy knoll we laid in silence as our bodies writhed in agony. I rolled over to face Alexa who had the same expression of pain written on her forehead. "Never again" were the exasperated words that crept out of my mouth. Alexa let out a weak laugh and nodded in agreement, and for the rest of the afternoon we remained stationary, basking in our own achievements.

Prince Charming

When Satuday rolled around, I found myself yet again sitting on an over air conditioned bus. After having visited Waimea Bay once, I found that it just wasn't enough. Alexa was curious, and I took this opportunity as an excuse to make the 6 hour round trip. The drive went quickly thanks to the beautiful scenery of inland Oahu, and unexpectedly, I found myself yet again at the foot of the cliff that had caused me so much trouble in my previous visit.

I promised myself the first time I was in Waimea that if I were to jump of the cliff that I would never put myself through the same horror a second time. Well, I lied. It was difficult to refuse Alexa's never ending taunts, and like what usually happens, I let my ego get the best of me. Next thing I know, I'm creeping closer to the edge of the rock face, staring down at the small crowd of people that Alexa has gathered. The clock kept ticking and the line behind me kept growing, but I let my fear of heights get the best of me and I couldn't do it. Alexa's patience ran out and she climbed to the top of the cliff, hoping that a good 'ol fashion pep talk might be just what I needed. It wasn't. She got restless as my hesisitance persisted and she jumped, leaving me once again on my own. By this time I had been on the cliff long enough for my leg hair to reach an incredible length and on top of it, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. It started to rain and the clear skies were replaced with an effortlessly gloomy cloud cover. As the wind picked up, my uncertainty did as well and I began to justify why I should not make the leap. The waves are rough. The rain is cold. It can't be safe. I've already done it once, why do I need to do it again. Ahh, the self reassurance trick, eh? Works everytime. Unless...there's an incentive. Up until then there wasn't. I'd done the jump before, it was getting cold, Alexa was my bestfriend so I didn't have much to prove to her, and I already knew in my heart of hearts that I was a pansy so there was no disappointment there. Just as I let a devilish smile, content with giving up, creep across my wind stricken face, I noticed an exceptionally muscular man climbing up the cliff's rear. With a quick double take, I was impressed. But I forced my eyes to avert back to the scenery that I would soon walk away from and I enjoyed a few minutes of serenity. All of a sudden, Mr. Fabulous calls out to me, asking if I would like someone to jump with. Because I was lost in the thought of grating cheese on his washboard abs, I was forced to focus on his words the second time around. Awestruck, I complied and he motioned that I grab hold of his hand and we take the plunge together. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, and my eyelids peeled open as I took in every inch of his perfectly tanned and beautiful self, we crept towards the cliff's edge. With the locals' encouragements drifting behind me, my mind went blank and we jumped. The weight of his hand in mine made me forget the free fall and my feelings of hesitation remained on the cliff, all that lingered was a new found confidence. I was infatuated as I was bewildered with the situation, incessantly contemplating this stranger's rationale. Like it was straight out of a fairy tale, this moment had been too good to be true. But it had happened, and I knew at that moment that as farfetched and unrealistic as it all seemed, it was just a glimpse, a hopeful reminder of how captivating love's magic really is. After hitting the surface of the water, I bobbed along with the waves, drinking in my two mintues of perfect romanticism, staring back at the face that had willed a complete stranger to do the impossible.

Pearl Harbour

If I had to choose one word to describe my experience at Pearl Harbour, it would be disappointment. After having my mullet blown away by the memorial park in Hiroshima, I had expected no less from the United States. Although the Japanese are well known for their innovative architecture and lavish gardens, the Americans are known for going big or going home. And at first I did get this impression. But after the initial shock of being knee deep in a historical naval base wears off, you're left with no more than some big guns and even bigger egos. In comparison with Hiroshima, I found the Japanese approach much more well rounded and sympathetic, while the Americans chose to, "Hit Em' Where it Hurts." It was difficult for me to walk through the museums, their walls plastered with success stories, nationalist paraphernalia, and heavy weaponry. As well stocked as these museums were, they did fall short. A sort of cold detachment emanated throughout their halls and the memory of the lost soldiers seemed absent. I was reassured though when a twenty minute ferry ride brought us to the USS Arizona Memorial, a place solely built for recognizing the deceased soldiers. Just as heartbreak finally found me, a well of pride and acknowledgement began to take shape on the faces around me. And soon enough, the small confines of the memorial could no longer contain the gratification that poured from the souls of 50 strangers.

Sometimes it's difficult to take life with a grain of salt, but through these difficulties we are able to release the negative ties that have been harnessed around our waists and instead walk towards a brighter future. Although I feel the resentment of the past deep within the walls of Pearl Harbour, I also believe in the confidence of change, and know of the vast possibilities that lie there.

Danger Zone

Getting around Oahu these past few weeks hasn't always been peaches and sunshine. While Monica was here we were able to bum rides off of her mom, and casually take the bus to and from central Honolulu. But after Monica left, I was on my own, and this idea became known quickly after my first 3 hour long bus ride. Lexy and I had to figure out an alternative mode of transportation, but with the legal age to rent a vehicle sitting at 21, we were out of luck. Until John, a beacon of hope/rental promoter approached us in the streets and sent us towards the light.

You know the expression commonly used while driving regarding bad drivers? "They'll give a license to anyone these days," is how it goes I think. Well the same goes for mopeds. All we had to do was sign a form, do a quick, unsupervised lap around the block, have a driver's license, and we were off. When Alexa first hopped on the moped, I saw the horror ensue in the renter's eyes as he watched her wobble to the stop sign. With a blantant reluctancy only reserved for people such as myself and Alexa, he handed us the keys to two brand new mopeds.

As thrilled as we were to have quick and easy transportation, we were both worried about our past driving experiences, and were left without a scrap of confidence. Little did we know that Honolulu is home to some of the world's worst drivers, and we fit in just fine. Weaving through traffic, cutting off vehicles, nearly skimming pedestrians, and forgetting to signal were common occurences, but like we had originally planned at the beginning of the day, we made it to Manoa Falls. Parking wasn't so easy, seeing as the mopeds had to be chained to a stationary object. It's a lot harder to find when you're in the middle of the rainforest. After severely burning myself on the moped's exhaust pipe, I was able to secure the bikes to a pole, and set off on the hike.

The first few steps of the hike were as exhilerating as they were memorable. The rain had begun to hammer the tops of the trees that provided minimal coverage, and the harsh winds we had once experienced were silenced through the forest's natural shelter belts. Through deep breaths, I took in the smells and sounds of the wild. I was frozen in time while all around me nature continued to blossom. As we struggled through the mud and newly formed streams, we noticed an opening in the trees. Like stepping into a rainforest dome, we were encapsulated by connected banyan trees and stretching vines. It was incredible to witness the truth that lie behind the lush plant life.

We continued to hike against the downhill moving waters which slowly expanded into rushing tributaries. With each step I found myself becoming more and more in sync with my surroundings, and was able to stray away from the pain my legs felt, or the chill that the rain had brought. After about 45 minutes of trudging through the mud, we crawled over a last set of boulders and came face to face with the imagine that had convinced us to begin the hike. We craned our necks against the fall's reaching heights and strained our eyes from the sun that broke through the canopy. From its highest point we could see the powerful white sheets of water being thrust over the rock hang and plummetting into the wading pools below. It was overwhelming to take in such beauty all at once, and so we took our time absorbing this fantasty world.

The hike back was easier. After having committed the contours of the hike to memory, I effortlessly climbed downhill, loosing my breath at the sight of the emerald forest, as if I was seeing it all again for the first time.

One with Nature

As I may have mentioned earlier, Maili has had a lasting impression on me. Every time I try to voice the way this place makes me feel, I come up short. Like running into a brick wall, I can't seem to find the find the right words to do Maili justice. As frustrated as I may find myself, I can't help but wonder if the reason behind my inability to describe this place rests with the same reason why it is so incredible. A secret is only a secret if it is never told. The same holds true for Maili. It is wonderful because like a secret, no one knows about it.

Since my obsession with Maili lingered days after Alexa had arrived, I decided to share with her the place that had made my whole trip worth while. It took us roughly 3 hours to get to Maili from Hawaii kai and throughout the whole ride I continuously questioned whether it would be just as captivating as the first time I saw it. After stepping off the bus, with adrenaline running through my veins, I stood in amazement as I receieved exactly what I had been expecting, bliss.

On my first visit, I met one of the lifeguards, Ronald, who for the last ten years has enjoyed the luxury of Maili's magic from sunrise to sunset, five days a week. Within ten minutes of being on the beach, Ronald came walking over and introduced us to the other lifeguard, Kelly. I was perfectly content sitting on the beach, listening to the boys talk about their shared obsession with the Hawaiian lifestyle. But, out of no where, I was thrown off guard when Ronald invited me to go snorkelling. Having never tried it before, I was a little hesitant, but I threw my doubts aside and followed him out to sea.

Lesson number one, make sure the mask is secured tightly to your face. Lesson number two, you can't breathe through your nose. Lesson three, salt water does not taste very good. Lesson four, yes, you will encounter fish, don't panic. Silly me, I didn't read over the snorkelling guide and had to learn these four rules through experience. But after the horror of actually encountering sea life had subsided, I was able to enjoy the peaceful life of the ocean. That is until Ronald explained that the fish we were admiring were dinner, and the stick he had brought along was actually a spearing gun.

To my dismay, Ronald was an excellent shot. With a single shot he was able to spear his target, a talent that I've forgotten existed. There was something so basic to Ronald's actions that I had overlooked. He was an organic hunter; allowing his natural instincts to take over. For a moment as the once beautiful fish made its last struggle, I felt the guilt of a lost life burrow itself into my conscious. Ronald saw the heartbreak in my eyes and motioned to surface the water. As we bobbed along with the waves he reminded me of how things were in nature. He was right. We've forgotten what once came to us naturally. And as sobering as this thought is, the idea of breaking free from our sheltered lives comes to mind.

And for an hour I was able to do just that. I was able to breath in a life that I'd never had, see things I've only dreamed about, and touch the ocean floor as if it were an arms reach away. On our way back to shore, as I let the relief of not having encountered any sharks set in, I was taken back when Ronald began waving frantically, his expression wild. Shock came over me as I looked in the direction he pointed, and through strained eyes saw the sleak shilouette of a turtle. It was nature at its finest, and now, I can say that I was there.

Welcome to Paradise

Sunday was a great day for the people of America. Not only was it the 4th of July, Independence Day, but it was also the beginning of the end for Hawaii. I found that after 2 weeks of beach hopping, my trip had hit a slight plateau. Almost seconds after picking Alexa up from the airport I found myself back pedalling as I hurled full force down a mountain.

Lightly said, Alexa is a very unique person. As if the whole world stands behind her, this girl's got more luck than a winning lottery ticket. No matter what situation she finds herself in, there's always a way out. I figured this would be a fantastic accessory to have while on my trip, but when she showed up, the luck was in short supply.

After having picked her up from the airport, it took us a short 3 hour to get to Hawaii Kai, and from then on we found ourselves waiting hours for buses, fighting off the homeless, hitch hiking, and burning in the sun.

The complaint train stops there. It wasn't as if our whole trip had collapsed into itself, there was still room for recovery, and with a hammer and nails, we were able to salvage our trip. It's funny how the worst situations can be completely reversed depending on how you choose to react and who you're able to share it with. Lucky for me I had my best friend beside me as we rode the waves together, the good with the bad.

Family Ties

Love at first sight is a lot easier than what people think. Well, it is when it comes to kids. Imagine looking into the big, chocolate brown eyes of a four year old as he squeezes his arms around your waist and not completely melting into a puddle of mush. This was the effect that Promethius had on me.

Through Monica's grandmother, I was introduced to Anya, the Russian model/masseuse who was the mother of the previously mentioned Promethius, the year old Vita, and then the thirteen year old Justin. While Monica was here we were able to all get together and hit the beach, and after her departure, I was left with the sinking knowledge that I would never see these kids again. But, the universe has a way of unfolding just as it should and the day after Monica left, I found myself once again being used as a kleenex and a human jungle jim.

I think what I liked most about these kids was all of their undeniably unique personalities. First off, there's Promethius. His cinnamon skin, combined with his giant brown eyes and curly black hair automatically forced an "awe" from anyone he met. He was a little rascal who was wise beyond his four years, and not for the better. His sarcasm exceeds him and his cuteness saves him. In addition to his over active imagination and dreams of becoming iron man, he was also inabile to let his sister have anything that he himself may want now or in the future. From personal experience and common knowledge, brothers, especially older, do not like to share.

As wrapped around his finger as I was, there was still enough left in me to cave at the sight of Vita. With her wild brown curls covered in sand about 99% of the time, I couldn't help but let out a little giggle every time I saw her. This little girl was sunshine in a gift bag. Seeing her waddle around full speed kept me on my toes, but the uneven sand generally led to a soft landing. I say generally because when you're two years old and you're running full tilt through the sand and you're brother trips you, there's never knowing what's going to happen. But, like all baby sisters will do, she got right back up with that same goofy smile plastered on her face and kept on trunkin'.

Last but certainly not least is Justin. Thirteen going on thirty. I was, and still am dumbfounded at how advanced this young man was. He told me stories of how he's moved from Texas, through California, and finally ending in Hawaii, of how he wants to play football when he grows up, and subconsciously, how much he loves his little brother and sister. Trying all too hard to play the tough guy card, Justin was easy to see through. The amount of responsibility that he had willingly taken on through his many experiences was astounding. But I think that in order to become that type of person, you have to have someone to look up to. This person was and is, without a doubt, his mom. As lucky as I've been with meeting great people on this trip, Anya is by far the most interesting. Having gone from growing up in Russia, traveling through Europe modeling, coming to America as a "Russian Bride", she wound up with three amazing children, a second language, and a dog named Snoopy. I admire Anya because although she's a single mother who works too much and complains too little, she truly appreciates her life and wouldn't change it for the world. I just hope that one day, I too will be able to look back on my life and smile with approval.

Surf's Up

Here's a phrase that the we've all learned to live by, "Easier said than done." And what really puts the cherry on top is that every bit of this expression holds true. Especially when it's applied to surfing. I'm generally one of those people who stands on the sidelines, watching someone struggle both mentally and physically to attain a goal after having made sacrifices galore and committing countless hours to training, and says "I could do that." Well, Saturday seemed like a good day to put my money where my mouth was and I did just that when I picked up a surf board.

It all looks so Hollywood-esque as you watch from the comfort of the shore. The surfer jogging in slow motion down the beach, his golden locks swaying in the wind behind him as he nonchalantly packs his board under one arm. His expression is inviting, and his pearly whites glisten as he looks out at the water. Effortless are his movements as he enters the water, and the swift winds from the shore carry him out to the middle of the Sea. From your binoculars you can see how subtle the waves are that he encounters; he jumps over each one like a game of hop scotch. But now he turns, facing you with his chiselled abs in plain sight. With no one else but you in his line of sight he shoots you a quick wink and you blush because you know it's what you are supposed to do, what you're expected to do. As per normal, the perfect wave will rise when summoned, not asking for much, but a companion. And the surfer, alone on the water, will comply. With ease and no hesitation, he catches the wave, his balance having never been an issue. He rides the steady wave and stands at exactly the right moment, never having wavered from his center of gravity. It's all so perfect as you watch in awe as he slides through the wave's newly formed tube. A perfect portal, you think. A portal made just for him. As he nears the shore, he finishes his performance with a sleak swan dive, and breaks the plain of the calm water to find you suprisingly, still absorbed by his little show. Slowly he treads through the knee deep water, shaking his hair dry in the newly discovered breeze. Just as you notice the shade of scarlet that has befallen his expression, he reaches into the water at what looks like his swim trunks. SNAP!

Back to reality.

I stand at the water's edge ready to make my mark when I notice the uncomfortable burden that rests under my arm. Oh ya, awkwardly placed against my side is my borrowed surf board, its weight enough to smother me if it were to fall. As I trudge through the water, I'm bombarded with wave after wave, and still in the same spot I began. So I take a running start, trip on the umbilical cord that connects me to the board, and fall flat on my face. Round three, as the wave retreats I make my move, running in the most uncoordinated fashion I could mend, but making progress non the less. Finally! I clumsily jump onto the board, like mounting a horse right? Wrong. P.S. I haven't ridden a horse since I was ten. So after struggling for some time, I am granted permission to ride the board. I paddle, and I paddle, and I paddle, and I sweat, and I stop because I can't lift my arms anymore. As I sit on my board, like I've seen done in movies, countless waves topple over me, punishing me for thinking all of this a walk in the park. By this time my hair is plastered to my face, I've consumed my sodium intake for the week, and my leg, for some reason, burns. So I throw all of my complaints out to sea (no pun intended) and spin around, ready to get this over with. It's then that I notice the gash on the side of my leg, most likely caused during my wrestly with the waves. Meh, a little blood never hurt anyone, right? Just as I let my thoughts twist into grotesque shark nightmares, I notice the growing swell behind me. Without hesitation, I do what they do on the movies, I paddle until it hurts. And like a plane taking flight I could feel myself being taken away by the water. Slowly, I was able to keep my composure on my knees, and ever so gently I took the plunge and jumped up onto my feet. It was euphoric and exhilerating to have the power of the wave below me. After the wave had disapated, and it was all over, I looked around, ready to express the liberation that was escaping my body. I was yanked down from my high and slapped sober when the sounds of the ocean remained uninterupted. There were no cheers or kind words of congratulations from fans who had been watching. In fact, there was no one there at all. Families continued to converse, couple remained entranced, and I, I was disappointed. Through my struggles I learned the value of perseverance. And through my solidarity, I proved myself to the one person that truly mattered. I talked the talk, and I sure as hell walked the walk... even if no one else knows it.

A Breath of Fresh Air

If there is one thing I know, it is that Maili puts Waikiki to shame. After having seen most of the island, I had become fairly solid in my opinion of Oahu. I'd learned that Jack Johnson resides in a house on the North Shore, tourists are seen more as targets rather than guests, and that Hawaii kai is not really close to anything. But what stood out from all of this, what took a week to discover, was the beauty in serenity.

As busy a woman as Simona (Monica's mother) is, there are a few perks to her job. Driving across town to Wainae also made the visit to Maili possible. Now I know I had mentioned before that North Shore took my breath away, but imagine Maili as a place that could make you forget how to breath altogether. As I walked down the white beaches, the sand forming pockets between my toes, I felt an overwhelming sensation envelop my body. For the first time since I can remember, I felt truly alone. But rather long for another's company, I allowed myself to be content with the solidarity that had befallen me. I sat along the water's edge and listened as the music of the ocean echoed all around me. I pulled my knees close to my chest, the chill of happiness having found me and I opened my eyes to the warm, whispering rays of the sun. "So, this is true Hawaii," I thought to myself. Maili was true. And it was raw, and it was pure. It was sobering to think that Maili wouldn't always be this way, and to question how long it would take for the developing city to reach the West. As I rode what was left of my Maili high back down to where I sat in the sand, I changed my focus back to the vast ocean before me. The water moved like dancing crystals against the backdrop of a clear sky; its innocence astounding. Untouched and unshared was this beach, and for some reason, that I'll never understand, it chose me.

To The Sea

The waves grew relentlessly on the horizon, forming little capsuls of escape. Like wounded soldiers, they fell over one another, fighting for the shore and struggling for retreat. The cries of the ocean sweapt across the sand and burried themselves beneath the swell, but their sting lingered in the salty air. The sway of the water moved through itself, unconsciously forming a pattern of contradiction; moving out, and pulling itself back in. A small current formed from the wind's heavy blows and the surfacing waves gave way to its persuasive means. For a moment, as the waves settled and began to form, the ocean floor was left exposed, like a forgotten child in the cold. And with a swift rising, the surf crashed down on the bare reef, once again concealing its secrets and swadling its doubts. Along the shore the water rolled desperately over the discarded shells in a hungry effort, pulling the sand towards its core. The efforts of the ocean remained futile, and a routine of strainful tension formed. But with a heavy heart the waves continued to crash, just as the swell refused to lessen, all for the promise of exhaustion and possibility of greatness. All the while the sky laughed and the trees swayed in ignorance, never having uncovered the secrets of the sea.