Moana Winter

This winter, the current winter of my existence, is well marked by ice and white snow. Imprisoned, shackled, and contained by the winter. Record snow to be precise, so much snow the world shuts down like a silent toy town in the corner of an old department store. The snow is so deep you turn your car on it and you can feel the it gripping your car's belly like a shark, spinning you recklessly in white sheet on a wild surface. The whole world is in movement but not. No one can move, but when you do you simply can't stop moving.

When I was younger my father would work in Hawaii consistently and effortlessly. My Sister, Mom, and I would travel out to see him and spend every spring break, Christmas break, and personal break we could on Oahu. We would stay at the Moana Surfrider in Waikiki on Oahu. To this day I still remember it in almost complete detail; the color of the sand, the sound of the waves, the leaves of the Banyan tree, and the feeling of the hot concrete on my feet.

I have lived in Minnesota my entire life. Winter is real here, not a fairy tale or sentimental wonderment. It is not some fantastical setting for some film noir or whimsical poetry. It kills and reminds, a potent force obscured by hasty and friendly weather predictions. Winter is also the time bender, it brings along the end of time. As I get older my skin succumbs to the lack of direct moisture and becomes dry. It's only been doing this consistently since I have gotten older.

The Moana Surfrider was located on Waikiki beach. We spent most our time by the pool and beach. That is where the Banyan tree was, and it was so dominant that it shaped the hotel and pool bar design. There were small boxes of white tile stacked around each root that protruded upwards in brown curls. Geckos would run beneath the leaves and shadows, drinking the puddles of pool water that would collect. The pool was that lovely chemical blue surrounded by a halo of white tile. In the center of the pool there was an emblem or logo for the Moana Surfrider, it was brown and gold. It was at the deepest part of the pool, I would dive down till my feet felt absent, and touch it.

Last year in winter my girlfriend drove an interesting car to say the least. It was an old white Honda Civic that had been originally apprehended by some Hmong street-racers before being sold to her family. They had stripped it of some semi-useful parts to make it more aerodynamic. One part being the power steering which would prove quite useful in the snow that would begin pouring in that Christmas eve. My girlfriend on her way over to our celebration took a curvy road. She ended up in a white and brown snow bank. A tow truck driver happened by and dragged her out free-of-charge. Thank you.

From Waikiki you could see down along the shore the hotel metropolis where everyone else enjoyed the water and sand. Above it all would be Diamond Head, that mossy stone pyramid jutting into the sky. An earthy symbol looking mediocre towards heaven. We climbed it one time and found that sterile concrete lookout at the end of the trail. The ocean looked forever, a hidden world upside with as much allure and mystery as storyteller could conjure up. An endless field of melted emeralds.

Even more disturbing that my skin being so easily warped by the weather now that I am older, now I also realize that the snow controls a large amount of what I am able to do. When I was younger and somewhat ignorant, I never really realized how mounds of snow towering over everything would prevent anyone from doing something. Invisible monsters, phantoms, wraiths, all those wild unforeseen things. Winter conjures up this attitude within you. This attitude being that despite the sprawling industrialization of the human race, the elements still determine your ability to transverse

The sunsets were an obsession for my family, nothing could interfere with them, not a single element. That faraway orb melting on the horizon, like cinders atop a cooling fire. Pure beauty, uncensored and justifiably indescribable. After they occurred each night, we would all huddle around the television watching a wide array of different things. It would all morph into a string of memories, sand, roaring foam, and random downpours in the afternoon. Then there would be turbulence on the plane as we rode those violent and warm winds back to the mainland.

Currently, in this winter, memories like this serve me as I watch the sun set at five o'clock and the deep cold crawl into every corner of my home. I am happy living here, but the winter as majestic and powerful as it is, takes its tole time and time again. If there is any answer for me through this wandering collage of pretty images and memories, it's that I desperately need a vacation.