Adrenaline

15 | sweet dreams, stevie

I try not to tie too much of my identity into where I reside because who I am—this person who occupies my mind and not the character I put on display for the rest of the world—lives inside my heart and soul, but it's hard to reconcile being a Hawaiian outside of Hawaii when I've spent most of my life on those islands.

        Most of the time it's easy to push those thoughts aside, especially when surrounded by people who remind me of home. Though my bandmates aren't native, they've spent their entire lives supporting and uplifting the people, culture, and customs of the land which they've occupied, so they're family to me more than just friends. When we're in LA or jetting across the farthest reaches of the world, they're right by my side, grounding me to a place that stabilizes all of my frenzied parts.

        Those days when it doesn't work out still sneak their way through. The turmoil of my head feeling displaced from my heart doesn't mix with the general struggles of living in the public eye. Like oil and water, my usual sense of self, born from the pearlescent blue waves of the Pacific Ocean, contradicts the new tricks I've been forced to learn.

        "I really hate it here sometimes," I shout as I slide past the front door and kick it shut behind me. "Nobody has any respect for anybody but themselves. Living like they're the main character of the entire universe and everyone else is just a background....not even a character. A damn prop or something."

        "Which one of us is background character #4?" Jun asks.

        I debate throwing an overpriced bag of kale at him.

        Jun hauls the heavier bags and sets them onto the counter while I push my sunglasses up on top of my head, pulling back some of my curls that have frizzed up in the warmth of a Tuesday afternoon.

        The anger dissipates when familiar aroma notes glide through the breeze blowing in from the open windows and back door, and when I spot Marty working his magic in the kitchen, it all makes sense.

        "Bless your heart," I sigh, sneaking up next to him. When I peek into the pot on the stove, he's finishing a batch of kalua pig and cabbage, and the residual hunger from a grocery run comes back in full force.

        Marty flicks my hand away when I attempt to grab a piece of meat, pointing at a plate on the side. "I made some panikeke. Eat that and stop trying to burn your fingers off."

        "What do you say about us hiring you as our personal chef?"

        "I think you'd have to pay me a hell of a lot more than you do now."

        "But it is on the table."

        Marty snorts.

        Jun snags a final pancake before darting away, mumbling about getting ready to hang out with friends.

        Marty grabs his phone and starts playing Keali'i Reichel. I slip onto the counter and rest my head against the cupboards, wistful musical notes lulling me back down to Earth.

        "What's on your mind?" Marty asks.

        "The usual."

        "I don't live inside your head. You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

        Despite the buzzing in my ear from all of my irritation this morning, he manages to make me laugh.

        "I'm definitely talking about a very specific subculture in LA when I say this 'cause I know there's far more to this city than just the glitz and glam of entertainment, but anytime I go anywhere here, I'm just profoundly aware of how different it is than growing up back home. I feel like a fish out of water here sometimes."