Abstract
The sandy, rock-strewn path to the gravesite of my father and mother is up a sharp incline bordered by tangled tropical weeds and sharp thorny bushes. The steep, arduous climb seems to symbolize the hard, grueling lives Otosan and Okasan endured so that their children might one day climb up to their graves and appreciate the spectacle of peace and serenity below. Where dry, flammable sugarcane once grew, wavering in the wind, are now groves of sturdy blue-green macadamia trees. And where patches of red-brown mud blighted the meadowlands, now sparkling white homes stand, surrounded by majestic cloud-draped mountain peaks. Happy, lilting voices of young children down at the St. Anthony High School football field suddenly evoke bittersweet memories of my own childhood, and momentarily distract me from the headstones.
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