My heart hurts

I miss the ocean.

When people find out I'm from Hawaii, they ask me if I dance the hula or surf. I do neither. Like a lot of kids growing up in paradise, I considered both stupid and counted the days until I got off the rock, preferably when I got accepted to a good west coast college.

My life didn't go like that, though.

Here I am in the desert southwest still. For someone who grew up around water and moisture (rain, ocean, puddles, waterfalls, mud) living in the desert is like living in constant thirst.

There's a "beach" in Albuquerque -- Tingley Beach -- that is made up of three or four large man-made ponds lined with that black plastic stuff gardeners line their koi ponds with. The locals gather to fish and sun bathe. I keep meaning to take a picture of the place because no matter how often I see it, it still seems unbelievable to me. The water doesn't even cover that plastic lining completely and it reminds me of a boy wearing too-baggy jeans with his underwear showing. A little embarrassing. And horrifying.

I want my ocean. I want to smell salt air. I want to smell a lot of things that remind me of Hawaii for that matter: Mochiko chicken frying on the stove, rotting fruit on the side of the roads, rain on the asphalt, coffee roasting in the afternoon.

I've been here more than a year now. I try, but I can't love New Mexico.