It may not seem like much because of how urbanized the Kaimuki/Wai'alae/Kahala districts have become.
Yet, when the sun rises over ʻihiʻihilauakea, it bathes the community in a shimmering golden glow for a brief minute. One can only imagine what our ancient ancestors must have thought of this sight and how the most fortunate of them who were birthed or died at that moment would have taken it as a hōʻailona. We, in our humble little cottage of one bedroom, one bathroom, and a small kitchen, at this precise hour, are now awestruck and humbled as the same shimmering golden glow silently illuminates our living room. We have been troubled for the past month at the sudden passing of our father, who sat with us on a Sunday afternoon celebrating his birthday. He desired a luncheon at our home with us, his children. The food was ordered from his favorite restaurant, Happy Times. Our stomachs were warmed and full after. Father retired to the couch while the rest of us took a seat where we could find one, and we watched the latest movies that were available. We asked our father if there was a particular film he liked, and he expressed that he didnʻt care, as long as we watched it together. Most of us began to doze off as the movie progressed, which is expected, considering that we had the best Chinese food in the district. Father was no exception; he fell asleep too. But we had no idea that he would never wake up. Neither did we. It pains me to say that we, as his children, constantly fought over money and what we felt we were owed. Father always said that mother was lucky that she passed before he did and would not have to witness such horrible treatment of one sibling toward the other. He was wise in that rather than worrying about how our inheritance would be divided up by a lawyer before his passing, he instead gathered us for a grand meal on his birthday, without us ever suspecting that he had poisoned the food. He was at peace with his decision before he passed, and his spirit transitioned into its next existence. We, the ghosts of his ungrateful children who haunt this house, are designed for watching the shimmering golden glow bathing this home every sunrise, gazing at the wonderous realm into which father entered, never being able to enter into it ourselves. Such is the curse of greed.
Credit: Farmerʻs Almanac
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