December

Roosters are crowing, hens are bock-bocking, and the soft hum of a ceiling fan slicing up the jungle air have been greeting me every morning here for the last three weeks. After some blinking, I peer out the plexiglass shades that never really close into the black-on-black shadows palm trees are casting on the lanai. I figure it’s barely 3am.

I shut my eyes and pull up a wrinkly linen sheet over my head to attempt dozing off again. If I can sleep through Brooklyn’s constant sirens and open car windows blaring the latest Tiktok drill track, I should be able to sleep through this aviary auditory assault, right?

This month, Athena and I spent the weeks between Thanksgiving and Xmas in Hawaii instead of returning to New York. The island magnetizes us because of its nature, warm winters, and the fact that it’s Asian Wakanda.

Two years ago, we spent a few months in Oahu during one of the Covid years which fundamentally changed both of us for the best. As one might imagine, trying to relive three months of life in the span of three weeks means creating the Spotify Wrapped version of best hits from that year to listen and recall the good times. Easy listening to remember some key moments, but nowhere near extensive enough to have captured the entire ethos of the experience.

In one visit to a newer plant café our friend Yixin recommended to us, I ordered some iced Hibiscus tea to grind out about an hour’s worth of work while Athena was at a nail appointment. I went outside to the car to change into some shoes so I could go on a run around the neighborhood while the winter rain held off.

After my loop around the Ala Wai, I make it back to the car and plop on the ground to stretch out my hips which are tight from too much sitting in chairs my whole life. I catch the shopkeeper sweeping up by the car entrance and figure that I might as well return to work in the café since it was still open for another 45 minutes.

I walk up to the driver side window only to see a handwritten note reinforced by eight strips of packaging tape on all four sides like someone trying to tape a return label to a package needing to make it through a hurricane.

“Parking while on premises only. Next time your vehicle will be towed away. A’o Kokua”

I side-eye the parking lot look around me to see that I’m the only car in the lot with plenty of open spots. I turn my head to see if I’m blocking the way out the exit. Nope. I doublecheck my phone to see it’s been 50 minutes and let out a chortle. By the time I put the phone back in my pocket and look up, the shopkeeper has retreated into the plant shops behind her $300 multi-variegated Monsteras.

Thankfully, I haven’t trimmed my nails since the trip started so have enough leverage to peel off the sign now plastered to my window. I hop in the car and google “A’o Kokua’ to figure out if that’s something I should feel ashamed or indignant about.

Search comes through and looks like “Kokua” is a Hawaiian word meaning “to help” so the signoff can roughly be translated as a plea for compassion.

I sit there in my own sweat wondering if I should be regretting tipping the shopkeeper. I mean, she isn’t wrong. Maybe I’m the asshole, and I shouldn’t have parked in this lot and left for my errand. I certainly am glad I got a sign and not a $500 fee from a towing company. She’s trying to run a business after all, but was the sign really needed if there is so much additional parking available?

If anything, I wish she was just direct to me about it where I could then give a sincere apology back. Now I’m left here needing to mirror and match this passive energy and slither my way out the parking lot.

Maybe two years ago, I would’ve preferred beating around the bush or left my own type of note with some self-righteous aphorism, but time in NYC now got me wondering why she didn’t “say it to my face.”

I drove the car a minute away to a street spot to pick up a delicious yogurt purple rice drink to carry on. Life goes on, braddah.

The one thing the mainland could never compete in though are the crystalline waves in where surfing was invented. I’ve never really thought of myself as a surfer. I’m not really someone who is going to throw on a wetsuit to play around in the green sludge on the Rockaways. Admittedly, I’m more of a privileged surfer. Someone who only paddles out when the water is above 70 degrees and is clear enough it feels like I’m in an aquatic playground rather than an unrelentless place people can drown.

When I was trying to transition into Product Design, I went to my friend Matt for recruiting tips and a pep talk when I was feeling down on all the rejections I was receiving. Matt’s a real charismatic type born and raised in Orange County who used to be the president of my fraternity. Somehow, anyone who has ever stepped onto a board and felt the gliding addiction of perfectly aligning oneself with water loves throwing out surfing analogies in any conversational context.

I forget who started it first. Most likely me. I must’ve said something about the job hunt like “Yeah I know that the waves come in sets. Just cause I missed the first wave doesn’t mean there isn’t another wave coming after.” Real original, I know.

Without missing a beat, Matt agreed and dropped in one of his own. “Yeah, exactly. Similarly, you shouldn’t be second guessing your timing on trying to break into a new job role. When it’s flat out, that’s actually the best time to paddle out there. Not when the report looks good.” I laugh and agree. Afterall, I know he’s just trying to make me feel better about pivoting during a recession.

Now that I’m dodging the masses of tourists out in the break who are here for their Blue Christmas and already making mental notes about how I need to start swimming more since I’m gassed each time I gotta paddle back. Matt’s wisdom finally makes fucking sense.

At least at my beginner level, the days where the surf report is favorable get packed to the point you need to dodge and bail so you don’t run into someone else. When the sets are roaring, paddling out feels too much like a Peloton workout to truly be fun which throws me out of equilibrium. When the surf report Is questionable, it’s more tranquil sitting out on the water in anticipation. Way less people are out there to overcrowd the vibe, you’re less obsessed about hunting the perfect wave, and most of all, people’s expectations are all easily exceeded since no one expected anything to happen at all.

I guess what Matt said really is an analogy for life. Go out there and be consistent even when you don’t think there’s anything out there. Don’t have any crazy expectations to ruin your stoke. Have some fun while you’re out there and you’ll probably get lucky and stumble into some great rides.