I don't know no town, like the old town

Waikoloa, It means wet duck. That's the direct translation of the Hawaiian word Waikoloa into English. I grew up in this village in the middle of lava fields. There's one road in and one road out. The older I got the more often I'd heard of an evacuation route being planned, but in the 17 years I was there the one road sufficed.

To the Mauka (mountain) was my tiny school, which was actually a barn. And to the Makai (ocean) there was camping, palm trees and crystal clear water as far as the eye can see. We didn't climb mountains or hike trails to find the secret spots, we rambled over lava fields and set up blankets underneath the stars, falling asleep to the waves.

Every road is only one lane each way. One road outlines the entire island's perimeter . 9 hours. I only drove it once.

Quietly the hotels land plots expanded and the tour buses joined the lifted trucks at the once isolated "cruz" spots. There were still a few left when I left it all behind. I like to think that they are each still there, preserved as if time stopped when I let it go.

I live with the picture perfect images in my mind, and surround myself with the perfection of each sunset I was lucky enough to capture. I'm certain I'll return, yet it'll be with a timid and reserved mind. I'll cry for what's different, because nothing will be the same. Changes to the 'Aina (land) I didn't get to witness. And the changes in me, all the ones the 'Aina didn't get to see.

Don't take for granted the blessing of driving past your old house and old elementary school. Embrace seeing someone in the dairy aisle of your hometown grocery store, and think of me the next time you wish you would have left. No, I don't regret one minute of it. The leaving and moving on. But for now memories I have are the only ones I get to make.

:: "Picture postcard memories, Well they always make for good company." ::