i feel like i write a lot. but i don’t. i think a lot. and i think about writing what i think about. it sounds strange because it is strange.

i write very casually, very often. it’s become a habit. i like keeping in touch with people by writing. i like being a high-tech pen pal. or an old school one. every time i receive an email or letter or message from a friend, i’m a little surprised. i think because i appreciate it so much. i know what it takes to sit and write an email (or one up, a letter) when you remember to think about someone on the other side of the world. 

it’s hard when the people you most want to talk to aren’t there. i miss my family. i miss my friends. i miss normalcy. but i’m not halfway yet. and i like that. i’m not ready to for my adventure to end.

it’s been raining a bit on the island. i took another trip to hana, yes, another. this time, because of the rain, there was water everywhere. on the road, on the ground, running off the side of the mountains into the ocean. the pretty waterfalls that once trickled their calm stream into a clear pool turned into violent rapids that covered the rocks we so casually rested on before.

every waterfall was a rapid. every waterfall was raging with angry water fighting to squeeze past something and get to some place i would never know. every waterfall was brown, muddied water. water spilled from wherever it could.

i couldn’t fathom the amount of water that was flowing. all i could think about was how we were sitting on the rocks just three days ago. they were nowhere to be seen today. today, it was my memory worrying me. visions of bodies being thrown around the river. disturbing. the amount of water – unbelievable. eerie. mysterious. like the rainforest was keeping a secret – most likely about where it’s hiding the never ending supply of water.

i won’t wish the days away.


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