For those of you who read my last blog post, you’ll know that Albert and I finally reached the end of all our infertility procedures. The struggles we had to overcome were great, and the piercing sorrow I felt after losing our children hurt in a festering yet living kind of way that made me feel like I was dying from the inside out despite the steadfast beating of my heart. I was actually starting to go a bit insane by the end of it all.
We had played with the idea of going to Hawaii after our procedures were over, but going somewhere on vacation had felt vague and foreign at the time, largely because we hadn’t known what the future had in store for us. But after receiving final answers at last, we intuitively knew that we should get away from it all, take a break, change the pace. And where better to do all that than on one of the islands of Hawaii? So we went to Oahu, a place Albert had never visited and one that I’d only ever visited way back in elementary school.
Life almost seems divided in two now. There’s the part that was before going to Oahu, and then there’s the part that is after, the now. And that’s because Oahu proved to be the magical, tropical, coconut-and-pineapple-flavored elixir that restored my deteriorating mind and aching heart.
Thinking of our trip to Oahu feels like flipping through the pages of an old, favorite photo album. There are a lot of smiles, funny tan lines, beautiful scenery, an abundance of food, and random things that make you cock an eyebrow and laugh. Brother Iz’s “White Sandy Beach” was playing in my head throughout the trip. There really were beautiful, white sandy beaches all throughout Oahu, and I really was having so much fun with my husband.
I stared out the window on the long drive to the Polynesian Cultural Center, gazing at the turquoise ocean that stretched out calm and flat beyond the coconut and palm trees, which swayed in the warm breeze. There were parents with their the kids, who were, as all kids are, completely unafraid of danger and only excited to be doggy paddling around in the swelling, clear waves that lifted them up and down in their embraces.
The kids at the Ko Olina lagoons kept diving to the bottom, their butts then their paddling feet sticking out toward the sky before disappearing into the water. The sight spurred me to get over my fear of the water and do the same. I ignored the pressure in my ears as I picked up rocks I found sitting on the sandy floor. I floated on the surface with the sun on my face before righting myself and staring at the calm sea, the resorts, the mountains.
We saw a wild eel in Hanauma Bay that might as well have been a model for the animators who had worked on Ursula’s eel henchmen in The Little Mermaid. Its rough maw was open as it wriggled through the waters, a true ocean snake. It continued plunging into holes in the coral, sending small bits through the water in slow explosions, before shooting out of the coral again. I floated face-down, watching all the other wildlife, and listened to parrotfish crunching away at the coral with their beak-like mouths.
I walked around Waikiki, wearing my bikini and wrapped in a sarong, not caring about my weight and how I looked. The only thing I cared about was how it felt so nice and cool to be wearing less clothes in the warm weather, which kept a constant sheen of sweat on my skin. I liked my golden-brown tan and the intermittent showers that cooled both my skin and the air.
Our tour guide at the Polynesian Cultural Center was a young college student from Malaysia named Jace. He was cheerful, and every moment we had a break, he’d fan us furiously with a genuine smile on his face. The luau reminded me of when I’d last come to Oahu back when I was a kid, back when my parents were still together. Somehow, the memory made me more happy than sad. The fire dancers and all the students working so hard at the PCC reminded me of my own college days when I went all around the Bay Area, performing Korean traditional drumming with EGO and spreading cultural awareness. I felt inspired to do new things again once I returned to San Diego.
Everyone stared at me as I shoved Hawaiin baked goods into my face for breakfast while hiking up Diamond Head. It’s not my fault they didn’t think of bringing delicious banana bread and cornbread for the trip up. A cute, young Japanese couple behind me started humming the Indiana Jones theme song as we hiked through a dark, rocky tunnel. I met Albert at the top and took selfies.
I nearly cried at Pearl Harbor, both on the site of the USS Arizona and the deck of the USS Missouri, where WW2 ended. All the soldiers who fought and died were kids if judged simply by their age. But the valor many of them showed was the mark of true men. I was reminded that age does not determine maturity.
I learned about Queen Liliuokalani and her intelligence, bravery, loyalty, and kindness. How she visited lepers in person and built a hospital for women and children. How she gave up her throne to save the lives of a handful of loyal followers. I was inspired by her unwavering faith in Christ and her ability to forgive. I learned how so many of the early leaders of Hawaii were incredibly intelligent men and women who used sheer smarts and hard work to make sure that the islands would have a future for centuries to come. How, though the rule of Hawaiian monarchs came to an unjust end, their efforts and sacrifices did, indeed, ensure that the islands would maintain first-world status for good.
We visited the Rock Church’s church plant in Oahu and spoke to members we didn’t know about our infertility journey. They listened to us, prayed for us, hugged us, and tried their best to encourage us. Sometimes, Christians you don’t know are the perfect people to talk to when seeking encouragement and advice.
We went to a quiet and dimly-lit used record store and searched for reggae vinyls in the relieving cool of air conditioning. The music they were playing was good. The owner was nice and stayed in the back corner of the store, listening to a new batch of vinyls, searching for scratches.
The greatest memories, though, are of Albert. Albert waking up at 5AM two mornings in a row to feed the parking meter in parking-scarce Waikiki so that I could sleep in. Albert, who is normally so frugal, buying whatever he or I thought would lift my spirits. Albert, buying me different meal options and bringing it to our Airbnb so that I could choose whatever was easier on the stomach once I woke up from my exhausted sleep. Albert, doing whatever I wanted to do without objection in the hopes that it would make our trip the relaxing experience it ultimately was. Albert, holding my hand as we strolled through Waikiki’s busy streets and shopping malls.
Albert, putting his arm around my shoulders and drawing me closer to him as the glow of the horizon turned red with the sunset at Kuhio beach. People were splashing about in the rolling waves. There was an Asian girl making a dragon sand animal with such determination you would’ve thought there was a prize to be won. We ate dinner sitting on my sarong, which I’d spread over the sand. It was poke from Foodland, which we’d gone to because we’d wanted to save money. But I ended up blindly buying the most expensive fresh fish, which ended up costing us a $40 bill from what’s usually a cheap grocery store. We laughed at our inside joke, that I always blindly pick out the most expensive things to buy wherever we go. A man behind us shouted, “Goodbye, Sun! See you tomorrow!” as it set. The sky was so high above. It was a soft purple that was lapping up the last golden rays of the day. Diamond Head was standing tall and proud in the distance to the left. Albert was sitting right next to me on my right.
I gained so many things from this trip. I gained a truer understanding that my children are at peace in heaven, which is even more comfortable and beautiful than Hawaii, and that I can be and am happy. I want to move on and am moving on. There’s more to life than just this past chapter and everything it held.
It’s okay to be relaxed and chill. Nothing bad will happen even if I’m not wound up tight and trying to do everything to perfection. After all, everyone on the island is chill, and they’re doing perfectly fine. I’m also not so tired anymore. It doesn’t feel like I’m carrying invisible weights when I do chores or keep up with personal hygiene or even write. I’m recharged and actually feel like doing things again.
The biggest blessing, though, was the impact on our marriage. Relaxing cleared my mind, and when I saw Albert running around so much during his own vacation in over a year simply to try and make me happy, I was suddenly reminded that my husband really does love me so much.
IVF was not easy on our bodies, minds, and hearts. As a result, it was not easy on our marriage. I’ve come across forums online where people talked about how IVF and infertility broke their marriage, and after having gone through it myself, I can totally see how this can easily happen. But despite all our mistakes and arguments and times of despair, we made it to Hawaii, and I could see past all that now and see Albert at his core. And at his core, behind all the conflicts, he has always, always loved me. I regret that I wasn’t able to see that more clearly for the past year and a half. But that’s the thing with hard times. They cloud the mind being the storms that they are.
I may not have children, but I have a husband who takes me to Hawaii to cheer me up, who literally runs down several deserted blocks at 5AM so I can sleep for thirty more minutes, who cooks and cleans the house and walks both the dogs whenever I’m tired even when I don’t ask him to, who texts me during his lunch hour to see how I’m feeling, who forgets all the awful things I’ve screamed at him in my despair and still holds my hand at the end of a long day.
The sadness of losing my children and the dream of a family is still there, but it feels calmer now, like the sea at low tide. I’ve come back from Hawaii in better health, both in mind and body, thank God. But most of all, I’ve come back with a heart that is so full with love for my husband, who I still have even if I don’t have my children. My husband, Albert, who loves me so dearly.
