Feeling the Volcanic Sand…
He looks around at the peaceful emptiness, hearing tranquility and soft winds brushing his ears. He doesn't want to leave Hawaii. But he smiles, walking in his rumination and unavoidable sadness. So much of his worth will be determined by a higher-up back home in Sumatra, reporting to those who take his empirical data and analyze it, and a month later, he can only dream of Hawaii.
Java parks the four-wheel drive by the black sanded beach, blackened from volcanic activity. A sensation to feel beneath his feet; he gets out, feeling the humid breeze from the trees and sea and inhaling the fresh air. He then sees the volcano, learning about volcanoes from watching his hotel's TV. He never understood how islands were formed, assuming it had something to do with volcanoes, yet his assumption was correct. The program described them as 'Hot Spots', a funny name to him while he walks along the warm, black sand, listening to the waves crash into the beach.
He looks around at the peaceful emptiness, hearing tranquility and soft winds brushing his ears. He doesn't want to leave Hawaii. But he smiles, walking in his rumination and unavoidable sadness. So much of his worth will be determined by a higher-up back home in Sumatra, reporting to those who take his empirical data and analyze it, and a month later, he can only dream of Hawaii. So he sits on the black sand, gazing at the blue sea, smelling the salty air, and enveloping himself in his time here. He has more than forty-eight hours left.
Forty-eight hours of freedom with strings attached. He never knew Hawaii would be so beautiful and different, how mellow the locals were, and sure, the high costs of food and clothes, yet all these create a place he will cherish. He touches the black sand, feeling as it falls from his clenched fingers, and while he looks at his sandy hand, he lies against the sand and listens. He doesn't think; he doesn’t move. He listens.
To the waves that crash some distance beyond him. To the wind that rustles and stirs the trees. To the birds that make noise in the sky. To nature, sweet nature, and a reminder of who he is as a Sumatran. He is one with nature, and to devastate it, as he has seen reported through the nature programs, hurts him. He has seen the palm oil plantations in Northern Sumatra and heard about illegal logging that can't be cracked down. Though much has changed from the old regime or the Indonesian empire under Suharto, Java sighs heavily.
He hasn't experienced enough Hawaiian things. He gets up, brushes off the sand, and leaves. He's hungry, craving a poke bowl.
