El Ranchito Restaurant
Corona del Mar, CA
This was the last time I had an anxiety attack.
And what brought me to where I am now.
I had just returned to Orange County after a few days in Hawaii with my mom; we had gone to Oahu to pay our respects to my grandmother's brother who had recently passed away. Although it was under dire circumstances for our visit, it allowed me the chance to meet my extended family, now going into a 4th generation growing up on the island. I was enveloped by my new family who welcomed me with open arms, warm hugs and little ones who smiled and called me Auntie.
I came back to CA feeling a whole mess of different emotions: sad, from having to say goodbye to my uncle, but also excited knowing I now had a LOT of "new" cousins; tired from the travel; happy to see Randy after being gone all week; hangry because well, that's the norm; but mostly uneasy, as I was feeling a bit lost.
Randy picked me up to go to lunch and we headed towards Corona del Mar. Halfway en route, I remembered it was the day of the annual Christmas Walk, which in the past, has always been a festive time. But due to my volatile mix of moods, I didn't have the patience to hassle with the crowds and holiday drivel.
(I know, bah-humbug. I was being a scrooge for sure.)
But we were almost there so Randy suggested we check it out, if we're not feeling it, we'll go somewhere else. So we park and walk towards the center of the storm but the moment I turned the corner onto PCH, the jubilant atmosphere could not brighten the ominous clouds in my head.
Before we left, I walked into El Ranchito to use the restroom and after a few seconds while standing in line, I could feel the anxiety attack quickly creep on. Blurred vision ensued and my peripheral started closing in on me. And then I started sweating. I ran out of there, blindly yelled to Randy, "WE NEED TO GO! WE NEED TO GO NOW!" He looked at me confused but followed me as I frantically scoured through the sea of white, between the saloned blonds with their Louis Vuitton bags and David Yurman jewelry, past the paisley shirts worn by well-groomed douche-baggery natives, and beyond the countless Land Rovers and Maseratis, back to my car.*
As I paced along Avocado Street ranting, "I can't do this anymore! I can't!" waving my arms about like a crazed person, Randy asks what just happened. And I said, "HAIR!! BOOBS!! LIPS!! They all just exploded in there! Everything in there was FAKE! I can't live around this anymore!"
Two months later, we were on a plane to visit Oahu and the Big Island in the hopes that I could convince Randy that we should move to Hawaii.
Randy and I had previously talked about moving out of Orange County but our conversations were mostly hypothetical. Nothing was wrong with OC; we both had comfortable lives and it was what we knew. I had been living there for almost 23 years and Randy had grown up in Huntington Beach and spent most of his adult life in Newport and HB. We had a tight social circle of friends, my nephews were only an hour away, and I was happily content with my 7 gym memberships and close accessibility to two of the best malls in the country.
But I knew deep down that Orange County wasn't truly home for me and there was something else missing, somewhere else, I needed to be.
Although I had only visited a few times - twice with my parents when I was younger and twice as an adult - Hawaii has always held a special place in my heart. I attribute that to my beloved Grandma Cruz who always considered the islands her home. As a child, I joyously sat next to her watching old episodes of Hawaii Five-O and Magnum PI, listen to her point out Hawaiian landmarks while sharing her memories of living there. For several years I danced hulu through my ballet troupe (I know, truly authentic, eh?) and thought, "duh, I'm a natural, after all, I'm Hawaiian, aren't I?" And my favorite times were when my unkos and aunties would visit from HI, they'd all sit around the kitchen table, laughing and talk story all day. And so I grew up loving all 'tings Hawaiian.
I pondered a move to Hawaii in 2005; I had just gotten divorced and wanted a fresh start. I flew out with my mom and by the time I left the island, I had three job offers and an open invitation from my uncle to stay with them temporarily until I found my own place.
But in the end, I was only running away and I knew my problems would simply follow me across the Pacific.
So thankfully, I decided to stay put in CA.
Fast forward 12 years, I
Instead, I was running towards something.
These days, after our work day ends, we still have plenty of daylight to go enjoy our island life. Spare time is spent outside or at the (ONE, yes, one) gym. And most of our stress comes from coordinating dinner around the sunset, remembering to put on mosquito repellent, and what day should we make the hour drive to Costco.
Don't get me wrong - it's still life. We still need to work, pay bills, and figure out how to feed my face every day. But it's not too shabby when the crashing waves are a quick 7 minute, carefree walk away.
No more Newport mommies running around in their athleisure Lululemons, no one asking what diet you're on this week, no one humble bragging about their new LV bag (#blessed bullshit), no overheard conversations of recent rejuvenation surgeries, no one asking what car you drive, no more suggestions of where to get hair and eye lash extensions. * No more nonsense.
My life has become blissfully simple. I'm home.
Aloha nui loa.
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