2019

While some goodbyes were easier than others, I would never classify them as fun.

Today's goodbye, however, happened to be more fun than most, but that likely had something to do with two factors: I wasn't the emotionally attached woman being left behind, and the two people I was hanging out with were Leimomi and Micah, which meant it was nearly impossible to be in a bad mood.

I was surprised by Leimomi's request last week to drive them to the airport. For one, I would have thought Micah would be dropped off by her family since she was leaving for college, but I wasn't going to question it. If there was any couple I knew who could talk themselves out of having to deal with overly emotional parents saying goodbye to their child, it was Micah. They weren't just attached at the hip; if they weren't on the same wavelengths, the entire world was doomed to tilt off its axis and spin into chaos.

Then again, Micah wasn't the first one Leimomi told about deferring college for a year. But they had moved past that, as only the two of them were capable of, and were beacons of hope that this next year apart would help them grow in their own ways before eventually meeting again.

I was also surprised that Leimomi had asked me, not Kanani or our mother. Even if I had been the first one she told about college, they were the ones that offered her substantial advice once she broke the news to them as well. It made sense that they would be the most capable of holding her hand through this difficult time of change.

Whatever reasons had brought us here, I sat across from the two of them inside an old family-owned diner near the airport. I absentmindedly picked at the food on my plate while they clung to each other as if they never wanted to let go.

"Maybe if you guys go to Disneyland, I can drive down to meet you?" Micah suggested.

"I don't think that'll be happening soon," I replied. "Nani is due in January and she won't be able to go. And it'll probably take them a while after the baby is born to want to travel anywhere." Micah's face fell, and I scrambled. "But, you know, never say never."

"I still can't believe she's having a baby." Her eyes widened. "It feels like we're still babies."

I laughed. "You two are babies."

Leimomi narrowed her eyes at me. "You're only seven years older than us."

"All I'm hearing is that I'm older."

"Yeah. Old."

Smiling at the two of them, I excused myself to use the restroom, which, surprisingly, had a line, albeit a short one. But since we were getting ready to leave soon, and I wasn't going to risk having to pee while we were stuck in traffic on the way home, I waited behind a young woman, probably not much younger than me, with perfectly curly hair I was envious of—I could never get my curls to look like that—and a curious smile.

"Someone went in there with two kids who looked a little... green," she said after a few seconds. "It might take a while."

"Lovely." The only good side I could find to this was that Leimomi and Micah had some extra time to themselves before we drove to departures. "Another reason I do not want kids. I can barely take care of myself."

"Honestly, same."

We laughed together while the line moved forward one person since they threw in the towel. If it weren't for my lack of available options after, I might have done the same. There was no telling what those facilities would look like once we were given the chance to enter.

"At least it's not Tuesday. We could've been waiting for, like, five families."

"What's on Tuesday?" she asked.

"Kama'aina discount day."

She stared at me. "I... I don't know what that is, sorry."

Visitor then. That made sense. She had that curiosity in her eyes that only people who had never been to the islands before experienced. That, or they were getting ready to leave it for the first time. (Exhibit A: Micah.)

"It's a discount for anyone from here. Some places have it." After a quick check to make sure Leimomi and Micah were doing okay, I turned back to her. "First time in Hawai'i?"

"Yeah." She laughed nervously. "I start classes at UH this fall, so I came down with my mom to check things out and find a place to stay."

"Oh, cool! I used to go there for oboe lessons when I was still in high school. Everyone there is nice—" I scrunched my nose. "Maybe. Probably. It's been a while. I don't know if they still are."

The woman took it all in stride. "No worries. That's good to know." A child's scream erupted from inside the bathroom, and we both turned to the door. No one emerged yet, but I think we both sensed the family would finally come out soon. "Any advice?"

"Is this going to be your first time away from home?"

She shook her head. "I've lived in a few places, but... Hawai'i seems like its own thing. And, you know, I've done my research, but I don't want to do anything disrespectful. I know it means a lot even to be here."

As nervous as she appeared, she was already miles ahead of a lot of others that moved here, no matter the length of their stay, so she had that going for her. And maybe it was just wishful thinking, or, perhaps, years of carefully examining the kinds of people who visited our islands, but I had a good feeling about her even after the short time we spent talking.

The idea of moving somewhere else for school crossed my mind a lot, even after I had dropped out of high school. Not that I had ever thought I would since I was so tethered to home, but I admired those who did something I found wholly terrifying. Being by myself in a new city, state, or even country for the first time during a time when I barely understood the kind of person I was would have been strange.

I couldn't imagine the person I would be today if I had done something like that.

Taking a deep breath, I brushed my hair over my shoulder and turned to her once more, this time with more purpose. While I wasn't destined to do great things that landed me on stages in front of sizeable crowds, I could be the friendly face someone met in line for the bathroom that helped calm the uneasiness of an unfamiliar experience, even if only for a moment.

"Jumping into a community-oriented place can be a little intimidating sometimes, and you won't always encounter the nicest people here because, well, there's no place on Earth immune to the difficulties of humanity, but you'll also meet some of the nicest people you've ever met. They'll be the ones to teach you our way of life, and they'll be more than happy to do it. You'll pick it up in no time. Promise." I took another breath. "I won't lie—living here can feel lonely. Very much so. There will probably be a lot of days when you think you made the wrong decision or you don't belong. But Hawai'i is one of the most beautiful communities in the world and you'll learn so much while you're here. The people, the culture, the history. You might not even realize it until you're ready to leave. Soak it up while you're here. It'll be worth it." After a second, I add, "And if you see one lane coned off on Kapiolani during morning and afternoon rush hour, don't drive on the other side."

It was a lot to take in, and she probably meant something else, but everyday life was a straightforward thing to learn, in my opinion. The actual struggle came from the things most people didn't talk about.

She stared at me for a few beats, collecting all her thoughts about my advice before quickly shaking her head. "That's... good to know."

"Apparently, the cones and oncoming traffic aren't enough for people to realize that maybe it's best to not go into that lane."

"We just landed before this so we haven't gotten that far yet, but I'll remember that."

Finally, after what felt like forever but was likely only a few minutes at most, the bathroom door opened and a mother and her two children scurried out like they were leaving the scene of a crime. Considering kids and upset stomachs were likely involved, that wasn't too far off.

"Good luck," I told her.

The woman stepped forward before pausing. After a second, she turned back around as her shoulders fell—more out of relief than defeat. "Thank you. I really needed to hear that."

"You'll be okay." I nodded. "Promise."

"Katie!" Someone yelled from behind me, loud enough that the entire diner probably turned. "I'll meet you in the car, okay?"

"Okay!" the woman—Katie—shouted in return. "Moms, right?" she said with a laugh, looking at me as she rolled her eyes playfully.

I smiled. "Moms. Always."

...

On the drive back home, we got caught in traffic on the H1.

Leimomi turned off the AC and rolled down the window, allowing a gust of fresh air to wash over us. Before we had pulled away from the curb at the airport, my sister had started one of my classical music playlists, and Fauré's music provided a calm backdrop to our journey back home. Despite the grueling rush hour traffic of downtown Honolulu and the empty seat in the back where Micah had been sitting, I found it to be pretty relaxing.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as Leimomi glanced outside.

It took her a second to reply. "That... wasn't as scary as I thought it would be."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Really. Like, it sucks, obviously. But... I don't know. It feels different than I thought it would. I know we'll be together again soon. We just have to do what we need to do first."

After the tears had dried, and there were many of them, Leimomi wasn't the withered shell of someone she used to be. She was a flower reborn after a midday rainfall. It was beautiful and something aspirational, and as the traffic slowed to a momentary pause, I let my eyes linger on her a little longer, hoping I could somehow manifest whatever sense of hope she always seemed to cling to.

"That's good," I said. "If there's anyone that can do it, it's you two."

Leimomi shifted in her seat so she was angled toward me. "You could too, you know."

"You say that as if I'm in a relationship."

She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully. Leimomi treaded with a bit more caution than Kanani when it came to trying to confront me about things I tried to avoid. Being stuck in a car together afforded her the chance to say something while still being mindful of how hard she wanted to push.

"I mean in general. If it happened, you'd be good at a long-distance relationship."

Subtle. I could handle this. "Maybe. I think I'd have to get a little better at communicating, though. I don't know who would be willing to put up with me dropping off the face of the planet 'cause I'm sad over nothing."

"You're never sad over nothing." Leimomi frowned. "And even if you were, that's okay. Life sucks. We all know that. No one faults you for the way you react to it. Your feelings are always valid."

Traffic inched forward as I replied, "Thank you."

"I wish I... knew how to help you open up more, though. You deserve to be happy all the time."

There was that moment before someone started crying when they felt suspended between emotions. Their throat is constricted, their eyes are strained against the oncoming tears, and their breath gets caught somewhere in their chest. No matter what reasons they had for crying, it happened, and it felt like the most devastating thing that could happen because it's often too hard to stop everything from falling over.

But then there were those moments of clarity right before it happened when that person realized the tears are full of joy. Because, sometimes, we were so overwhelmed by how happy something or someone made us that we can't help but let it all out in that singular way. And, sometimes, accepting the reality that we were overflowing with happiness was unbearable because it meant recognizing that, despite the many ways in which we put ourselves down, we were deserving of it.

It was the smallest of comments, and she had said it so casually that it seemed silly to want to react in such a way, but her love washed over me as easily as the rain before a rainbow, and I snuck my hand up to wipe away the few tears that fell before she noticed them.

"You make me happy," I told her.

"I know." She said it matter-of-factly, without snark. "Other people make you happy, too."

"They do."

"I hope you know it's okay to keep them around if they do," she continued. "Even if you're both in different places. You can still be happy together, even if you're not together together."

"We were talking about you, babe," I laughed. "We don't have to turn this around on me."

"But I enjoy talking about you," she replied. After I laughed again, she continued. "I'm serious. I find it so hard to talk about myself without talking about you."

Thankfully, the traffic had come to a halt once again because I had to give her a look. "Why in the world would that be the case?"

Leimomi returned my confused face like the mirror of my features she had always represented. Sometimes it was hard to remember, but glancing at her now reminded me of how much she looked like me when I was still in high school, just as Kanani and I had been told many times that we could be twins. (I didn't quite agree with that fully, but that was because I always thought Kanani was the more beautiful of us two.) (She would hate me for saying so.)

"Because I wouldn't be who I am without you, Hoku." It was another comment made so casually I felt like the silly one for even asking. "I really don't know how you don't see it. You're always there for me, even when you'd rather shut off the rest of the world. Because you do. A lot. But that's what makes you so strong. No matter how many times you want to shut down, you always find a way back up. And you always give the best advice in a way that only makes sense when you say it. I can't... I can't think of anyone I look up to more than you."

"But Kanani is—"

"Kanani is amazing and I love her to death, but so are you." Leimomi crossed her arms. "You don't have to compare yourself to her. She'd just tell you she looks up to you just as much."

I wasn't sure if I believed her right away, and the traffic beginning to move again helped to not let the thought linger for too long, but I snuck one final glance at her before I pressed on the gas and thanked my parents for giving me these two incredible women with whom I could walk through life. The only thing I wish I had was the ability to see myself the way they did.