It’s a hard pill to swallow.
This idea that there are people out there who don’t like us.
But there are.
And a lot of times, we have no idea why.
I have dealt with this my entire life. I remember being the new (read: weird) girl in baton class and knowing that the other twirlers didn’t like me much. They actually never got to know me. And I remember in high school having friends who, for reasons that are still a mystery to me, decided one day to hate me.
Maybe I did something to hurt them. I really don’t know. I never mean to hurt people; it’s not in my DNA. But still, people seem to find something to hate about me — about anyone — and there’s not much we can do about it.
I remember once a coworker thought I had designs for her boyfriend; she did everything she could to get my fired from my job. Had she just asked me, I would’ve told her that I truly, sincerely had no interest in the guy. In fact, I couldn’t even tell you his last name.
I realize sometimes there’s just no explaining why people don’t like each other. (Look at radical forms of religion.) Sometimes it’s jealousy, sometimes it’s just personality conflicts. I get it. But I don’t understand why it has to lead to something so foul. If you don’t like me for whatever reason, fine. But doing things to deliberately hurt me — or anyone — is just ridiculous.
Awhile back, when I first launched my YouTube channel, I did video posts that related to my blog, then being published on The Honolulu Advertiser’s website. I remember one video — I’ve since taken it down — received so much hateful comments — it was to the point of harassment — that just email notifications of comments were making me shake and quiver. I’ve got a pretty thick skin, but I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Underneath my loud, brash and sometimes inappropriate exterior is a very soft, mushy person who cries during animated films and Hallmark commercials — as most of my close friends know — and while I can deal with criticism better than most people, the harsh stuff isn’t always so easy to take.
I’m saying this not because I need an avalanche of kind remarks — though they are always welcome! — but because a lot of people think I must have a million friends, folks who love me no matter what. And maybe I do. But I have my share of haters, too.
When it comes to hate, sadly, we are not alone.
Maybe it’s because a couple of friends have passed recently, but I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship lately.
I started to look around and take inventory of who’s in my life — and who wasn’t anymore.
While social media — namely, Facebook — has helped me stay connected to friends from childhood, college and old workplaces, it hasn’t really helped me stay connected in a literal sense.
Sure, I know who’s had babies and who’s recently gotten married. But I can’t say I’ve had a long conversation — preferably over food! — with most of my old friends.
Sometimes it’s the distance, sometimes it’s because of schedules. But most often, it comes down to time.
No one seems to have it.
I wonder how much time we spend doing things other than connect with the people we love. How much time do I spend watching reruns of “The Real Housewives” reunions or replying to tweets?
I try to grab lunch or drinks or surf with people — and believe it or not, I’m rarely on my phone during these in-person meetings! — but I can’t meet up with everyone. And that’s sad. So many of my friends — from college, from The Advertiser, from past jobs, from writing groups — I haven’t stayed in touch with. And I miss that.
I’m sure it’s a function of getting older, too. We accumulate friends over the years, and it’s virtually impossible to stay connected to everyone. We pick and choose our close friends, often based on convenience or schedules, and the others tend to fall away.
I hate that.
I saw how devastated the Old Guys were when we lost Jimbo and Donald in the same month. I hate to get the phone call one day that an old friend of mine had passed — and I didn’t have a chance to say anything, namely, “Thanks for being a friend.”
So here’s what I want you all to do: make a date with an old friend. Connect. Reconnect. Say hello. Give that person a big hug. Tell them how much they’ve meant to you. Do it. And do it now. Tomorrow is never a guarantee.
One of the Old Guys found this photo of legendary shaper (and friend) Donald Takayama and former NFL great Junior Seau yesterday.
Just looking at it gives me chicken skin.
Junior died in May. Donald — to everyone’s surprise — died yesterday.
The official word is Takayama died of a heart attack, though other reports says he died from complications with surgery. Whatever happened, he shouldn’t have died. He still had a lot of surf in him, and everyone who’s surfed with him in Waikiki, where he grew up and continued to rip, will miss him.
I didn’t know him when he lived here. Donald moved to California back in the ’60s — well before I was born. But whenever he was in town — which was fairly often — he would paddle out to Queen’s and snag a few waves in his signature style. We were kindred goofy-footers out there in the lineup, and he knew just how good that left is at Queen’s.
He would join us for coffee sometimes, always smiling and telling stories. At 68, he still had that stoke.
It makes me think about how often I decide not to paddle out or complain about the waves in town. Here’s this guy who had could surf wherever he wanted, and he still loved the friendly surf at Waikiki. Shame on me for being such a wave snob.
I’ve been riding Takayama boards for years. In fact, my first epoxy is a Takayama and it’s still my go-to board.
The surfing world has lost a master, but our gang has lost a friend.
But I’m sure he’s happy where he is now. I hear the waves up there are always perfect.
I can’t even tell you when it opened.
But one day, it was there. Takahashiya Tonkotsu Ramen, touting its tonkotsu-style noodles straight from Kyushu in Japan.
And let me tell you: it was stupidly good.
Every prefecture in Japan has its own variation of ramen, and in Fukuoka it’s tonkotsu. The cloudy dashi, or broth, is made from boiling pork bones, fat and collagen for hours, infusing the broth with a hearty — and distinct — pork flavor. It’s rich, it’s flavorful, it’s addictively delicious.
So when I saw that this new spot was selling tonkotsu ramen literally five miles from where I live, I put it high on my list of places to eat.
Except parking is tough — you have to find street parking on Kapahulu, and that’s never easy during lunch — and, well, a slew of new restaurants have opened in recent months, too. So it took me awhile to get there.
But I did. And here’s what my recent lunch looked like:
Takahashi Ramen
Takahashi Ramen, 726 Kapahulu Ave. Hours: 11 a.m.-3 p.m. Monday, Wednesday through Sunday; 5-10 p.m. Monday, Wednesday through Sunday.
