It’s around this time every year I get really home sick. My mid-year crisis of wanting home. Though I was born and raised in Hawaii, the Pacific Northwest has staked its claim as being the place I belong. But, there are times when the weather gets hot, the responsibilities are high and the road seems alone that I miss the smells of the ocean, the sounds of the crashing waves, the people, the food, the islands.

This time around it isn’t any different. I took a mental day of yesterday and sat at home thinking of what I’d be doing at home and had a whole conversation in my head.

“Brah, we go beach?”

“Nah! For wat? Some hot. Gon’ get planny people dere.”

“I kno! Ho, we go riva den? Jump in real quick den come home.”

“Ya fo shua. We gon’ get grinds? We go Hilo Lunch Shop ya.”

“First ting.”

I laughed at myself because I don’t really speak the language of the islands unless I begin to have one too many to drink. I was never fond of the language which admittedly I am ashamed to admit because it brings a uniqueness to who we, as Hawaiians, are. I continued because I was bored out of my mind but refused to socialize.

“Ai Aunty wat no work today?”

“Nah boy. I play hookie we go up da riva today.”

“Ho I j. Wat you like eat den?”

“We like get five musubis. I like six of da shrimp. Unko like da corn beef ya.”

“K how much?”

“Like three.”

“K can. Wat else?”

With an active imagination I play scenarios in my head all the bloody time. Especially after the fact. Yesterday I just needed a sense of home. A sense of belonging. And so I created a scenario with the islands chosen language: Pidgin.

Pidgin. I’m not entirely sure how the name of this language came about. And yes, it is a language. It officially became a language this year I believe. It made me a little happy because now I’m “bilingual” and Pidgin I consider to be my native tongue. Don’t get confused between Hawaiian and Pidgin. Hawaiian is a language all its own. A beautiful language if only I could fluently speak it.

As my native tongue Pidgin is never far from thought, even when I push it away. I can be speaking with my husband and suddenly become ecstatically excited about something when it comes out: I kno! And was pau hana time so da kine wen da kine was so funny! An den we wen go do da kine an I did em. Some akamai ya me?

Or when I am surrounded by family who can’t help speak the language because it is so ingrained in them that it is who they are: Ho cuz, rememba wen we went Waipio? Rememba wen we wen scare Timmy? Brah an all da grinds yo maddah one make was broke da mout. Holidays are especially fun with the language fluently loosening us up.

The words of the islands. Hawaii, how I miss you. I miss the sandy shores. I miss swimming with honus. I miss beach runs and the family get togethers. I miss the drive from Paradise Park to Hilo or from Hilo to Kona. I miss the simplicities of the islands. Sometimes city life can weigh you down and you just need a touch of home. Home, please hurry because I miss you.

A hui ho, Hawaii nei. xoxo