Next week my mom and I will be in Honolulu, another annual sojourn started. She’ll be eyeing the Hilton Lagoon, thinking how lovely Waikiki is; I’ll be watching the ocean, wishing I could finally be residing on Oahu.
And I would be—in a blink—if it weren’t for the absurd border that physically and legally blocks one similar country (an ally) from living in another.
Every year I write at least one similar page or post: why the <bleep> can I not just live there? I’d make a great American. In fact, I’d be a better American than many who have been born and raised there. Alas, I have no relatives who could serve as sponsors, no ties that might enable easy access to the grand land of the free, no important letters behind my name declaring I’m a physician or engineer or scientist. There’s just l’il ol’ me—honest, sweet, kind l’il ol’ me. (Okay, I have my moments, but for the most part I’m a pretty decent person.)
I’m still not sure how it will come to pass, but I will find the legal means to make Hawaii my home. I have the faith; I believe in Great God. Prayers are answered every day and miracles do occur.
It’s also not just about becoming American—though that has been a dream I’ve had since the age of five (which I’ve mentioned umpteen times, I’m sure)—but because I long to embrace the Aloha spirit.
Next week my mom and I will be in Honolulu, another annual sojourn started. She’ll be eyeing the Hilton Lagoon, thinking how lovely Waikiki is; I’ll be watching the ocean, knowing one day I will finally be residing on Oahu.