Laie, 96762

A personal essay by Katey Workman

My deepening relationship with my happy-place hometown.

Love is an ocean.

It begins playful. Fun. Frolicking crystal that flows on resting sand—light, beautiful— shallow.

But it soon gets deep. It becomes meaningful as the shore’s playful blues turn into mysterious indigo depths that swallow the light. Color is made when particles of light reflect off of what it encounters, but all that bounces back is abyss, because there’s no bottom. Not for miles. Only the bravest venture past waist-deep. The bravest and the most foolish.

We do not love the ocean for its shallows. We are bewitched by its leagues and intrigued by its depth. Intrigued by what we still don’t know of it, longing to know what else it holds, and in humbled awe of the majesty it commands.

. . .

When we moved back to Laie, Hawaii, we knew what a lucky opportunity we had. We had dreamed so long of the azure waves of the Pacific, of the rolling emerald and olive mountains—the koa, the papaya, and araucaria columnaris visible from a distance. Plumeria, hibiscus, and naupaka all blossom, their fragrances sweetening the air. We’d dreamed of the people—the warmth and welcome—the Aloha—that’s tangible as you step off the plane. That and the humidity. It’s like you're breathing real air for the first time. I had remembered that humid air cooling us off one Christmas night as we went caroling from one happy house to the next. Musically gifted by nature, the neighbors we visited harmonized to our melodies that we sang and strummed out on our ukulele and the palms danced a hula as the soft breeze blew, to our earnest Hawaiian-style-musical-Christmas offering.

All those things made me love this place. It's easy to fall in love with. Most do.

. . .

But staying any longer in Laie than the suggested Trip-Advisor length proves enlightening. The houses are small with junk often piled on the front lawn. The restaurants are sticky. Sticky from salt water off of wet swim suits and messy eaters. The town has one stop light, one grocery store, and 3 burger places. And next door a Chinese restaurant locally known for giving food poisoning. We can't stop eating there. The single lane highway that runs around the entire island. If you haven't gotten stuck in traffic then you probably haven't arrived at your destination yet. The heat gets oppressing. Air conditioning ranges from arctic-cold to is-it-even-on? It exhaustedly, fervently pumps out a lightly rank stench (a mix between imported seafood and pineapple)—it has been running on high too often for too long. The buildings are dingy. Cockroaches are pedestrians. Geckos scale moldy walls. Roosters run unrestrained through the streets, crossing roads without anyone asking them why. Mesh nets, glass shards, plastic chunks, soda cans all litter the shore after the morning swell. Not your ideal tropical paradise.

But one morning, walking on the shore of Clissold's beach with my footprints disappearing in the gentle swell behind me, my brothers and I made a discovery. A lone pair of crustacean-clad divers goggles amidst the rest of that tide’s haul-- some weathered sticks, some trash, fresh sand. They belonged to some brave seaman around 1910 who tragically lost his goggles in the tempest's fury. Though he fought valiantly, the storm proved too much, the goggles slipping from his face and drifting, alone, to the unknown fathoms of the deep. At least that's what we assumed must've happened, my brothers and I. These goggles were ancient— a treasure. It's a museum, we decided. The ocean is a living museum. There are no tickets and no reservations. Just fortunate exhibitions when the Ocean is willing to share. There's no telling what countless gems lie beneath its glassy surface, deeper, deeper down in its darkest depths.

The Ocean. Laie. It is in their depths where their treasure lies. The dark. The places that aren't often seen, and that few get the privilege to experience. I love Laie for its its crashing waves, rainbows, blooming flowers and picturesque mountains. But it's also because of its idiosyncrasies — its messiness, critters, slowness, and inconvenience — not in spite of them, that my fondness of Laie has grown into a true love. Deep and profound as the ocean — entrancing with all its depths, awe-inspiring with the treasures it has yet to reveal.