in april, i left hawaii after nearly 2 years. i spent the entire week before my departure on the verge of tears.
i’d be driving somewhere or paddling into the surf when suddenly, i’d realize that this was the last time i’d be doing this for a long time. in those moments i’d slow down, trying to capture every sight and sensation so that i could snapshot it into memory:
the way the koʻolau mountains misted over in the rain.
the sunset reflecting off the windows of honolulu, a view you can only really get from the water, and one of the best parts about surfing in town.
but is it really possible to save a mental image permanently? i knew those moments would fade from my memory over time until they were only silhouettes of a silhouette — coalescing every so often by the breath of a photos memory, but destined to fade to black.
what would remain, though, was how those moments in hawaii made me feel. and the truth is, they made me feel like home.
in hong kong, where i was born and raised, i’m what you call a third culture kid – someone who came of age outside of their home culture (i.e. where they grew up). i spent my formative years away from family and home: at 14, i went off on my own to a boarding school in new jersey; after that, college in north carolina, followed by a year in california before making my way to hawaii in 2021. america was where i had truly grown up as an adult.
the thing about third culture kids is that our multicultural, cosmopolitan upbringing shapes the way we define home. we’ve continuously made new homes for ourselves as we transitioned from adolescence to young adulthood to adulthood. unlike people who have lived in the same country all their lives, home isn’t a single place for us. home is plural, scattered across the globe.
for me, hawaii was one of those homes – but it was different from the rest because it was the only one that came close to feeling like home home. i felt deeply ingrained into the land and community, or the 'āina as they say in hawaiian. i knew the surf breaks on each side of the island and what tides and swell direction they worked best in each season. i knew where to find the best poke on the island, the best dim sum, the best soup noodles. i was friends with all the baristas at my favorite coffee shops and often had my order already waiting for me when i got to the front of the line (love you kam!). in many ways, i knew the island of oahu better than i knew hong kong.
more than that, i had built a large, incredible group of friends over the course of 2 years – friends that i surfed with, adventured with, partied with. i loved these people. at my farewell party i remember looking around the table, surrounded by over 30 of my friends, laughing and chatting with each other; how did i get so lucky? i thought to myself. i knew that more than anything, these relationships would be what i’d miss most about hawaii.
and yet i had chosen to leave. why was i letting go of something so good? i had a life that ticked every box in every way and it felt absurd to walk away from it of my own accord. why?
there’s an ebb and flow to your life, and no one senses it better than yourself. trust your intuition; listen to your soul speak.
i think your mind can feel when it’s time for a change. one day, out of the blue, you’ll be sitting at a coffee shop, or shaking your butt in the middle of the dance floor, when this exact thought pops into your mind: okay, this is great... but what’s next?
from that moment on, you start wondering if it’s time for a change of pace. you start daydreaming about what it might be like to live elsewhere, doing something different, surrounded by new people. you realize you’re not growing as much as you used to, and certainly not as much as you did when you first arrived. however well things seem to be going in your current life, something is… missing. you try your hardest to figure out what the problem is but you can’t find any. sure, some things could be better, but life’s still pretty good. and yet this gut feeling only grows stronger over time.
ironically, i first sensed this desire to leave after the best summer of my life in honolulu. it had been over a year since i moved to hawaii, and i’d just spent a whirlwind summer meeting new people, partying it up, and surfing the best swells of my life. i was watching the sunset from the beach one lazy sunday evening when i suddenly thought to myself: okay, i’ve just had an insanely fun few months and that was amazing. now what?
the truth was, i was so darn happy in hawaii but i also realized that i needed to go. i existed and yet at times it felt like only 90% of me was there: i didn’t feel like i was actualizing the full potential of who i could be. when the opportunity arose for me to leave the stability of a traditional career path1, i took that leap of faith – even though it meant leaving behind my home away from home and everyone within it.
leaving hawaii was the only way i could try to find that missing 10% and become fully myself, fully me.
and so i’m sitting out in the water with my mind going a million miles per minute. i’m asking myself “why” not expecting a genuine answer, but rhetorically – my way of expressing the pain and reluctance of letting go. tears well up in my eyes like a shorebreak glistening in the tide.
it’s true that third culture kids have learned to make homes wherever we go – but at the same time, our path also leaves us deeply familiar with the act of letting go. when i left hong kong for boarding school, i left the home where i had spent my entire life, along with my family, friends, and pretty much everything i had ever known. and i was only 14 at the time.
so yeah, i know how much letting go hurts. it feels like you’re losing something, a piece of yourself that you built up over time with love and tears and countless memories. a nest you painstakingly crafted with every leaf and stick tenderly placed.
as human beings we have an innate fear of the unknown, and often cling to familiarity by default. to let go is to leave something as safe and familiar as home and step into the unknown. it’s terrifying and believe me, i still struggle with it at times.
but what i’ve learned as a third culture kid is that you can choose to embrace the unfamiliarity, to carve out opportunities in the unknown, and to find a new beginning in every bittersweet departure. even though letting go may seem like an act of taking away, it also gives so much in return.
letting go has given me the room for new experiences and growth. it’s taught me to value the time we have instead of taking things for granted. and most of all, it’s shown me that everything beautiful is impermanent, and that’s okay. my memories of the koʻolau mountains and the sunset over honolulu may fade in time – but what will remain in my mind, always, is the sense of beauty of a time in my life when i felt so utterly, happily at home in hawaii.
beauty is fleeting. but it was beautiful.
it’s getting dark now, and even the uncles are taking their last waves in. i dig under the “why” and the sadness, and beneath it all i find a buried excitement for what’s to come.
the master observes the world,
but trusts his inner vision.
he allows things to come and go.
his heart is open as the sky.
– tao te ching, verse 12
photos taken by yours truly, across hawaii from 2021-2023. credit for the fifth photo goes to my dear sister natalie.
more on this to come in a separate post!
I have no idea how I happened to stumble on this post but it was lovely. Great writing and great reflection.
thank you for sharing about this unanswerable why feeling. you're right, it's intuition, that "ebb and flow to your life" that only you can sense, even if you can't always explain!