Paradise. . .a mirage of the truth. There is beauty that is held, much more captivating than any photo could bring. . . life to images of those papaya trees, coconut leaves, a place of peace and serenity. . .destruction and despair apparently not many know what actually has been echoing from there. The waves carry the breeze and tell the silent stories of the fisherman, the voyagers that traveled the seas to get to where we are, where we are a wonder to many because paradise is a place where everyone lives in harmony and is happy and the reality is there is death, a dying people, from my ancestors so many of us try to negligently hold on to . . .the past which has been changed, renamed, forgotten, abandoned by those who claimed they wanted to help. . .but who only came to reject us and defile our name. I can smell the sweet dew that awakens me in the morning, the mist that covers the windward side of the island, the Ko’olau mountains that welcome me when I wake up in the morning. . . the sound of geckos wrestling in the trees. There are sounds of the slacky guitar playing harmoniously as I reminisce the feelings I had listening to John Cruz, Ekolu, Gabby Pahinui and so many others that filled the nights, as hula dancing took place and all the aunties and uncles talked story with me because I was no longer a keiki. . .child. . .childhood stories I reflect on that remind me of my ancestry from a monarchy so removed from historical content that one outside of Hawai’i may never know the truth about my people, my Olympic Gold Medalist Cousin who surfed and won the excitement of americans who didn’t love him because the color of his brown skin. The line of women that the island is so connected to and my namesake who will forever live in my heart. . . Princess Pauahi. . .You see my heroes are those who died for the kingdom of my people so that we may never forget who we are, even when we have become extinct to many around us. . .to those who don’t acknowledge us as we are. . .For the songs of the Queen, the love of the islands through our Princess’s and for those who stood for us when we were told we were not allowed to exist. I stand proudly today as a Kanaka Maoli. . .a person of the land. . .a bloodline of original peoples to a land far away where only those who want to understand me, won’t erase me.