Grant takes a break from his daily lily drawing to listen. He’s almost better at it than art. His inked forearm cradles his tilted head, stare intensely focused while I recall my favorite parts of O’ahu. From the beautiful sandy beaches that are unlike anywhere else in the world, to the fresh Foodland poké. He asks questions about the local Hawaiian reggae music I rave about, saving my playlist filled with Kolohe Kai and The Mana’o Company.
It's not the in-depth history lesson he might have had in mind. And one day, I’d love to explain those things, too. But my heart wants to teach Grant about my connection to Hawai’i, what it means to me, and the love I’ve developed for my culture.
“There’s a special sense of community in Hawai’i too. My dad calls it the Aloha Spirit,” I say, grinning through the last sip of my drink. “That’s what I love the most. More than the music and the food. I love that there’s a sense of kindness and unity, where everyone is willing to be there for one another, no questions asked and nothing expected in return.”
Leaning closer to me over the table, I can feel how Grant holds onto every word. Having someone who cares so much about me and about this has a deep feeling of appreciation swirling in me. It’s almost impossible not to continue sharing these important parts of my life with him.
“It sounds like your family loves Hawaii a lot.”
“We do.”
A lump gathers in my throat, formed by the pressure of what loving Hawai’i so much means for my parents, and me, as their daughter.
“O’ahu is my mom and dad’s home.” I start, nervously rubbing at the side of my neck. I want to share this with him. And considering that he opened up to me about his mom and what being her son means to him, I should be able to do thesame. “I don’t think there’s anything or anyone they love more than the islands.”
I pause. Wait to see if Grant can pick up on what drives every decision of my life.
He squints his eyes inquisitively before saying, “I’m sure there’s one person they love more than Hawaii, even if it’s home.”
I wish that were true.
Sighing, I answer, “I don’t think there is. That land is a vacation spot to most people, but to my parents and my family it’s everything. It represents who they were and who they became, and it holds the values of everything they were taught growing up. Their best memories are engraved into the soil of O’ahu. There’s no place in the world like that for them.”
“I believe that. But there’s no one in the world likeyoufor them, either.”
“I know.” I shake my head. “My parents love me, I know they do. And I love them. But they gave up their home to give me Boston, my home, and every opportunity I could ever want.” An attempt to swallow the lump in my throat is made but comes back unsuccessful. “They gave up everything for me.”
“That’s what parents do.” He’s saying it to be supportive, but I’ve heard that sentence before. It doesn’t make me feel better. “You said they’re in Hawaii now. They gave you the life they wanted for you, and they’re able to go back home when they want to. Who knows? Maybe they’ll move back permanently.”
My stomach drops. The lump cuts off my windpipe.
“They were supposed to. Move back, I mean. That was their retirement plan once I graduated from college.” My head drops in shame. “Then I impulsively applied to Brookstone’s creative writing program. There was suddenly no retirement plan after that.”
It was the stupidest decision of my life. Not only because it derailed my career plans, but also because it was the first decision I’ve made for purely selfish reasons.
“You can’t put that on yourself.”
Of course I can. I have to.
“It’s important to me that I make their sacrifices worth it, as much as I can. All they want is a daughter who succeeds at what she does.” Embarrassment and guilt keep my head weighed down. “I was doing fine until this degree. It was selfish of me to pursue it. Failing would be an insult to everything my parents have done for me.”
“This is a lot of pressure to put on yourself, baby.” Under the table Grant’s legs trap mine again, trying to comfort me. While it grounds me to this moment and stops me from slipping into depths of self-criticism, it doesn’t stop the guilt suffocating me.
“My parents gave up their home for me not one, but twice. How am I supposed to repay that?”
It’s a rhetorical question. I learned years ago that a sacrifice that big, that deeply rooted in culture, can’t be repaid. But still, with stellar grades and ten-year plans that culminate in a steady, successful career, I try.
“Lily.” His calloused fingers tip my chin up, refocusing my stare from the table to his distinct shade of green. “Sacrifices aren’t an exchange. Whatever they’ve done, it was because they love you, not because they expect to get something back. You should want to get this degree for yourself. Not anyone else.”
I force a smile onto my face, grateful for how reassuring he tries to be during my mental spiral. But it’s not that I want to succeed and make my parents proud. Ineedto.
Grant presses a kiss on my cheek, sedating the overwhelming thoughts swarming my head.
“I don’t want you to stop stressing about one topic, only to stress about another. Tell me more things you love aboutHawaii. Or choose something that’s easier on your brain. Anything.”
I press my lips together in a strained smile, and like I do with my need to succeed, I try.
I explain to Grant how the slow-paced Hawaiian lifestyle contrasts the bustling streets of Boston. I listen when he recalls stories about him in high school and note the sharpness of his tone when drifting over Derek’s name. Later, when I find myself swinging my legs off the side of his kitchen island, we argue over ice cream flavors and video game franchises before he kisses me down on to his marble countertop.
