Tropical daze

flowerHome sweet Hawaii. There’s no place like Hawaii. Hawaii is where the heart is. Not Winterpeg, Manisnowba where I was born and raised until the age of 18. Not Welland, Ontario where I graduated from college, or nearby Niagara Falls where I married my first husband and lived near my family. And not even Kelowna, a tourist town in its own right with busy beaches and grand mountains, where I currently live with my second husband and kids. Nope.

It’s Hawaii. Doesn’t matter which island, what time of year, or where I stay. The ocean calls to me, then welcomes me like a mother holding her newborn babe. She calms me, reassures me, puts me back in balance.

Hawaii’s sun is not Kelowna’s sun. Hawaii’s sun warms right to my bones, to my soul and to the depths of my brain. Hawaii’s tourists are not Kelowna’s tourists. In this often unfriendly city people are neither dressed in aloha, nor do they speak the language of aloha. People are not the same. Life is not the same. I am not the same.

My desire to live on the islands has gone far past just “longing.” It consumes me and drives me. I dream it both asleep and awake, moving from scene to scene in a tropical daze.

Ahh, A hui hou kākou, my Hawaii (until we meet again) . . .

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