When I left Hawaii in 2020, I did not think I would return for a very long time (if ever). Hawaii had become a reminder of stressful times and loss. As Aunty Harriet said when my dad passed: “When your parents were still in Hawaii, there was always something connecting me to the islands…but now that they’re gone, it doesn’t feel like Hawaii is a part of me anymore…” Somehow, though, I found myself returning almost every year since. In hindsinght, it is almost like something was calling me back.
The three years in Boston were difficult, but I was often reminded of the importance of making your kuleana pono, to be grounded in community and the values from back home.
Although I don’t have any nostalgia for Hawaii nor for the home I grew up in, it was still a strange and difficult experience to finally get to revisit my childhood home. Upon entering, it became clear that the property had atrophied under the occupation by the previous tenants; a home of warmth, now relegated to a cold, architectural void.
Navigating the grief of losing so many people in recent years have drastically shifted my understanding of family, friendships, and love. I do not know how long we plan to be here, but I have long accepted that my family and my sense of “home” is distributed across the true friends I am fortunate to still have around the word. Wherever we end up next, I hope it won’t be far from a Homecoming.
