Aloha 'oe, Hawai'i nei — Malia Boyd Writes

In Hawaiian, aloha means “hello,” “good-bye,” and “I love you.” Right now, I’m focused on the “good-bye” and “I love you” parts because I am leaving the state that I love almost as much as I love my own children. So, why leave then? Well, there are a few reasons, but perhaps the biggest one is…deep breath…I AM LEAVING HAWAI’I BECAUSE I CAN’T AFFORD TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE.

There. I said it. And I accidentally left the caps lock on while typing that, which I think is The Universe trying to tell me to get past the shame and sense of failure I hold about being at this crossroads.

For years now I have felt inadequate because I look at a lot of the people around me and they all seem to be doing so well financially, while I have been just squeezing by. Sure, some were born with it, some married it—but many worked for it. And when I played that lethal game of comparing lives, I just always felt like I was not where I “should” be.

Growing up with a dad who was a public school teacher and a mom who cleaned houses, I’ve known since childhood that this is an expensive place to live. But recently, in contemplating this move, I decided to do some deeper research. Here’s what I found:

The cost of living in Honolulu is 88% higher than the national average.
Housing is 202% higher. The median home price on O’ahu is $835,000. That is like 4/5 of a MILLION DOLLARS for those of you who are bad at math.
Utilities are 89% higher. They are the highest in the country, in fact. And this is compared to places that have FOUR SEASONS, people! We have like one-and-a-half.
Groceries are 62% higher. A month ago, at Trader Joe’s on the mainland, I bought four bags of groceries for $100. Fancy, organic, yummy, fresh food. I thought the cashier had made a mistake and I kept waiting for the cops to arrest me for stealing when I left the store.
Transportation is 35% higher. Let’s not even get into the whole rail thing, guys. I know, I know.
We have the 8th highest income tax rate in the country, nearly double the national average.
Yet, despite our insane cost of living and high taxes, Hawaiian workers make less than their counterparts nationally in almost Every. Single. Industry.
In 2019, for the seventh year in a row, Hawaii has been identified as the worst state in which to make a living when comparing median salaries, taxes, unemployment rates, and the general cost of living.
Because of these stats, 37% of total households in the state are “Asset Limited, Income Constrained, but Employed,” while another 11% of total households live below the Federal Poverty Level. That’s almost 50% of our population who are part of the “working poor”--or worse.
And as if all of that wasn’t enough, Honolulu is the most expensive place in the world to buy toilet paper according to an online calculator that compares costs of living between cities around the globe. We can’t even catch a break when we’re taking a dump!

***

When I look at those stats, the shame fades away. No wonder it’s been hard! Considering all that, I’m actually a bit stunned by what I have been able to do over these last years—especially as a single mom. I managed to buy a condo in a nice neighborhood. I sent my kids to private school. We even took a couple vacations to the mainland. We have led a pretty privileged life.

But, I see now that I’ve accomplished this at the expense of my own financial future. I do not want to be a burden to my children when I am elderly, and to preclude that I have to save way more aggressively. After all, my father’s fees in his Care Home, which are par for the course here, are $9,000 a month!

Also, I’ve been holding on to all that aforementioned privilege by my fingernails. And I am exhausted.

Let me be clear, I’m not in jeopardy of losing my home or having to work three jobs or living in my car—yet. And that is precisely the problem, the “yet.” I yearn to live a life where I don’t have that “yet” constantly hanging over my head. And here in my home state, feeling one-step away from financial ruin is just a fact of life for me.

Honestly, the economics are so absurdly stacked against us, I’d be laughing my heart out—if it wasn’t already broken at the prospect of leaving my family, friends, and home behind.

***

Anybody who knows me even a little, knows how much I love this place. My fanatical devotion to the sea. My soul-connection to Le’ahi. The Manoa rainbows. The view of the Ko’olau and the Windward side as you come out of the H3 tunnel. The sugary sand of Kailua Beach that gets in everything and won’t come out. The North Shore fruit stands. The Man o’ War and perfect, tiny shorebreak at Sherwoods. Nanakuli Beach, where I have won and lost races in a beautiful koa canoe. The reef all around Sand Bar and Old Man’s that I have explored intricately over decades.

And don’t even get me started on the people. Sure, we have our differences and problems. But these people….No one in this entire country holds a candle to them. The sweet kupuna who live with my dad in his care home. Lisa at the snack bar who has fed me countless times for the better part of my life. The kanaka maoli fighting to make their voices heard and respected after so many years of being shunted aside. My paddling seasters who I’ve shared canoes and crossings with. All the people I see walking their dogs around Kapi’olani Park who say “good morning” even though they don’t know me. Gabby and Iz serenading me from the radio. The friends who have carried me through all the peaks and valleys of my life, some of them since we were toddlers. And yeah, even my crazy, loud, crazy family.

The thought of leaving all of it, all of them, is wrenching; hits me in the na’au. But it’s really not a choice anymore.

***

I’ve spent the last months researching good places on the mainland to live and work. I need somewhere with fair wages, a growing economy, good health care for my daughter, lots of easily accessible nature, and affordable housing. I’ve found a spot that seems promising—not perfect, but promising. Let’s put it this way, in average cost of living alone, I’ll be giving myself a 30% raise just by moving there.

So, like my ancestors who left Portugal in 1886 to find a better life in Hawai’i, I am striking out for a new place in the hope of finding financial opportunity and security. And if you promise to bring me furikake, rock salt plum, pickled mango, and aku jerky, I promise to let you stay in my extra bedroom and buy you a cup of fancy hipster coffee—because I think, for the first time in a long time, I may be able to afford both.

This classic recording of Aloha 'Oe at an old Hawaiian homestead on Oahu in fall of 1991 features (R to L) Henry Kapono, Cyril Pahinui, Israel "Iz" Kaʻanoʻi Kamakawiwoʻole, and Roland Cazimero.