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【 red room, 2016 】
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━━ Hawai'i has always had two faces that people could see.
More accurately, it had a mask and it had a face.
The mask was standard for the tourists, who chew up the urbanized facade and spit it out after they got their summer tan and saltwater curls. If they were somewhat decent, they might have to the ability to appreciate the environment and admire the culture with the buzz of a mai tai running through their bloodstream. But even then, they only consume the pretty parts, and they take from the stolen beauty again and again.
The natives were the sole witnesses of her true face.
Despite the exploitation and the illegal overthrowing of their kingdom, the islands of Hawai'i undoubtedly belonged to the Kamaʻāina ( children of the land ). The secret coves and the most beautiful, most isolated pieces of their home: all for them.
If there was anyone who was capable of personifying that divide, it was the island girl of the Kohala coast, Kealoha Halia.
Many just knew her as the ball of sunshine that practically ran North beach.
The tourists discovered their precious "Key" among the shore. Sand littered her brown skin, well-earned after spending her life in the sun. She would build awful sandcastles with the children of haole ( foreigners ) and have water fights during the daytime.
But the natives knew their little island girl: their beloved Kealoha. They knew how she always picked a Hibiscus flower to tuck behind her right ear before sprinting to the beach every morning. They watched her every morning: how she slowed down to greet the lady behind the guri guri cart ( who, in turn, always offered a spoon of the newest flavor of the icy treat ) and the couple who ran the surf shack ( who had been in cahoots with her parents to customize a smaller board for her ).
The natives knew she was passed around every evening between a group of her parents closest friends from college. Some of them liked to brag about being the best night surfer around bonfires, but they had always been shown up by Ignacia Halia. ( Kealoha just knew her as māmā. ) The youngest of the Halia clan was always snuggled into her father's arm on his surfboard as they watched the way māmā annihilated her impromptu competition.
