There has always been this one place, a place of unique extravagance. To me, this home has a soul that once held a soul, containing a sincerity and youthfulness within. In life, you may forget what the past was or intentionally let go of the heartaches it brings, yet this home on the hill of Pupukea will remain forever youthful and serve as an everlasting embrace to welcome you back. It may be hard to think of an area or a house in this instance to have a soul per se, but this home, this utopia--it's real. Maybe for others it is a plain attribute, part of Hawaii's splendor--the serene view of nature and one's extended family, even. For me, however, it is not just a home; it's where I am from.

The road that runs alongside the house brings tranquility when you listen to the sound of tire rubber against the cement. It's that same house of ghost children and whispered secrets--something warm lingers in the air. The windows share a view of the world; the doors seem not to hold any expedition or visitor away, as the gate is left open to the purview of the explorer. Fruit is placed on the table each morning for travelers.

In old Hawaii, this area was known for its funerals. Each home would be opened to visitors who would bury their loved ones in the heiau. Homes would be opened up to any travel-weary individual who needed nourishment. "This was one of many legacies of the definition of aloha," according to Jessie Hoomalu--it was the reason so many people in Hawaii felt that there was a community spirit shared within the world around them. Living in Hawaii, living the aloha spirit--it had brushed against the girls' eyes and her existence. Her eyes always closed quickly when the shadows came closer to the window. She heard no sound, yet could feel the coldness of their presence.

After night, when keen blades of yellow woker her from her slumber, she could always rely on the subtle motions of the palm trees as the water from the dew fell to the gray stones surrounding the tree. This was the serenity she lived amongst.

I have always felt safe here, here where my whispered dreams and desires never criticize me. All emotions are taken in and without warning, with one clean swipe of the wind, they are taken away and forgotten. The significance of this home and its memories have inspired me to journey and explore; like the sturdy structure of the house which has survived nature's wrath, whenever lost, I shall remain strong and resilient.

Though in fear of the ghost children who roamed lost in her flowers and drank fruit punch in her mango haven, she admired this place of love. The warmth felt in the air, the one that flowed down the hill and seemed never to leave you, no matter how far you left the house; it was the love her grandmothe embraced her with each morning. It was the laughter she made when in her yard picking flowers, the arguments of her cousins, and the reminder--no matter how far she ventured through her life, she always had a home to go back to. Pupukea is my home, my memories, and the house I will always return to.