Buzz
Gently drawing back the curtain, I gaze upon the still-slumbering world, dew-kissed and drenched in morning mist. It feels as though I am touching the early settlement days of your life in America.
The quietude, the solitude, and the melancholy envelop me in a cocoon of nostalgia. Memories linger somewhere beyond the rainbow. Hawaii, aptly named the Rainbow State, holds a special place in my heart.
One morning, I decided to venture out while my friends and children still slept soundly. I quietly wheeled my bike through the garden and onto the street. The deserted streets and shuttered houses remained silent and still.
The asphalt road gleams with pristine white markings, automated sprinklers twirl, watering the lush green grass. White-painted fences line the roadside, adorned with bushes of vibrant flowers, hues of green, yellow, and pink.
Low hills stand sentinel along the roadside, leading eastward where the early morning sun timidly peeks through.
Pedaling slowly past the crossroads, I marvel at America: not just towering skyscrapers or blaring car horns, but also the outskirts, a humble corner on the verdant western shores of Oahu, a tranquil and unexpectedly simple Waianae.
Was the only time I heard the gentle strumming of a Hawaii Ukulele under the shade of ancient trees on Pokai Beach? The melodies mingled with the sound of waves, tapping lively beats into my heart.
I stole glances at the indigenous people gathered around an iron table, chatting and playing music. Fearful that meeting someone's gaze would make the Ukulele melody vanish, and the dream of authentic Hawaii would fade away.
Every now and then, I hear IZ Israel Kamakawiwo Ole, a giant embracing a tiny guitar, singing a beautiful love song about Hawaii. I always keep my distance from a true Hawaiian on the beach, never taking photos and never daring to make eye contact if by chance we cross paths.
That's my biggest regret after the trip; I didn't breathe the air of Hawaii, didn't laugh the Hawaiian laugh, didn't sing the true Hawaiian melodies. My memories lack the imprint of the Oceanic indigenous people – the Polynesians.
Thinking about this, I truly want to cry... I had a trip when I wasn't young anymore, and I feel lost, unable to travel with the same passion as before.
I want to go to Hawaii to live slowly. To lie on the beach all day reading books, listening to the Ukulele, admiring the swaying hips in the coconut collision symphony.
I want to shyly admire the muscular, sleek guys mastering the relentless waves with colorful boards day in and day out. I want to sip every drop of vibrant, warm Hawaiian essence on the rainbow benches.
I want to pause there, on the West Coast of Oahu!
By Thuy Black / Youth
***
Reference: Travel guide Mytour
MytourNovember 4, 2016
