Waikīkī As I began to untie my surfboard on the top of my Honda Civic, the sun was just about to rise above the horizon. I parked my car unusually far this time, the street parking was filled and the meter parking stalls only allowed me to pay for one hour of parking so, I parked about a 10-minute walk away from my usually surf spot. I walked past the houseless uncle sleeping on the park bench and the crisp morning air brushed against my skin. As I reached the shore, the sand was coarse and the pidgins gathered around the un-emptied trash can. It was always unusual for me to watch the ocean in the front of me knowing there is an enormous amount of hotels, shops and tour busses behind me, distorting my view of the mountains.
I tossed my 8’6” surfboard into the water and started to paddle towards the sun. As I paddled in the ocean through the layer of sunscreen, I thought to myself about the significance of this place. I also thought about my responsibility to this place. I realized I became consumed in the fact, that this place became a commodity for many visitors that even I, a native of this land became displaced. This place is called Waikīkī. |
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