Essay | Love is Hard Work
A love for the islands demands that we explore what’s below the surface.
Photo: Richard Melendez
The big news story when I first moved here in 1992 was about the controversy over a proposed motorcycle helmet law. That was a far cry from the more sensational headlines I was used to reading on the mainland just days earlier.
The overnight low that week – in February, mind you – was a comfortable 67°, which I now find utterly, and pleasantly, chilly.
Pizza Hut was somehow voted the “best” pizza in Hawaiʻi by one of the major periodicals.
My first full day here, I went for a walk and had two strangers separately tell me “good morning.”
For a 20 year old from Long Island, this all felt so weird, novel. Disarming, even. (And in the case of Pizza Hut’s accolades, more than a bit hellish.) But I absolutely loved the vibe here, and I instantly felt at ease. In retrospect, I was probably a bit too comfortable for someone who hadn’t yet developed an understanding or respect for the land I had just decided to call home.
I was young, sarcastic and privileged enough to remain ignorant. I had a vague understanding that there used to be royalty here, but I knew nothing of the overthrow. I knew of sugar cane and pineapples but nothing of the Big Five. I had visited Pearl Harbor but had never heard of Kahoʻolawe or Mākua Valley. I didn’t understand that there was a distinction between how we use the terms Hawaiian and Californian. Behind the non-racy headlines were island stories I wouldn’t care to learn about till much later.
Being drawn to Hawaiʻi is easy enough. Falling in love with the islands is almost a given; love at first sight, if you will. But when we talk about why people come to love Hawaiʻi, particularly outsiders, it’s far too easy to focus on just the superficialities like the near-perfect weather, crystal blue waters, lush emerald mountains, and the food (Oh, God, the food). But being attracted to surface features and not what lies beneath isn’t really love, is it?
Love – true love – requires a certain level of care and understanding, or, at the very least, a commitment to oneself to want to understand. If you think the islands are beautiful, then deciding not to litter, for example, is easy. That’s because you’ve come to understand that this beauty doesn’t come without a responsibility to help maintain that beauty. Now, extend that logic to beyond just beauty. Think of local culture and history, think of your community, think art, even politics. If you love and appreciate this island home, what are you doing to help maintain it? To nurture it? To lift up its people and celebrate its traditions? How can you make your home that you profess to love better? More imporantly, how are you bettering yourself to make yourself a worthy suitor?
Photo: Richard Melendez
Because if one really, truly loves these islands and its people, then we should demonstrate this love love of place like any other love. We should seek to know our home more deeply, learn from it, give yourself to it without imposing or trying to change who or what it is. This can look like reading about its history, listening to kupuna and local residents, opening yourself to experiences and perspectives outside what you know, or think you know.
Most of us took a leap of faith by moving here, stepping outside of our respective comfort zones. But once we decide to stay, we absolutely should follow that up by pushing further into the unknown, even if – especially if – those steps lead to uncomfortable conversations and difficult truths. For every facet of local life that you think has a positive effect — tourism, military, development — there is likely a dark side that is often ignored or shouted down. Most every historical milestone that’s celebrated in the textbooks — sugar industry, annexation — bears scars that are hidden in plain view.
Take a peek where you haven’t looked before. Dare yourself to ask the questions you don’t know the answers to. You may find at times that you’re not welcome where you decide to probe, and that’s okay. You may not like what you find out, and that’s great, actually. Just use that newfound info to keep growing.
I’m not an activist nor an organizer. I don’t see myself as any sort of leader or educator. This magazine isn’t intended to be my or anyone’s soapbox. I do know that I’m still very much a student of life and of these islands, and I know enough to know that my education is never complete. Accepting that, accepting my place here, and learning the difficult truths is necessary, it’s ongoing, and it’s hard work.
But love is hard work. And it’s so, so worth it.
