The mountain stands, a stoic king, Crowned in clouds, where eagles sing. Its air is crisp, its heart is stone, A fortress built by time alone.
The beach, a queen, soft and free, Draped in foam and kissed by the sea. Its rhythm dances with the tides, A place where the earth and sky collide.
The mountain whispers, “Climb to me, And find your strength, your clarity. In my heights, the world is small, But your spirit grows, standing tall.”
The beach replies, “Lie on my sand, And feel the pulse of this vast land. In my waves, your worries wane, Your soul is soothed, your joy remains.”
The mountain boasts of solitude, Of paths less trodden, dreams pursued. It speaks of echoes, deep and true, Where silence sings of something new.
The beach enchants with company, Its laughter carried on the breeze. It hums of sunsets, golden, grand, And lovers walking hand in hand.
Yet both are keepers of the soul, Each a part of nature’s whole. The mountain teaches: Rise, endure, The beach reminds: Flow, feel secure.
Together they weave life’s perfect thread, With peaks that rise and waves that spread. The mountain grounds, the beach sets free— Two halves of one great symphony.
In our home, Yakitori is more than just a meal; it is an event, a ritual, a shared joy. Every time skewers of tender, marinated chicken sizzle over the grill, a sense of anticipation fills the air. The smoky aroma weaves through our conversations, teasing our senses, drawing us closer to the table. Yakitori has become our family’s culinary love language, a dish that speaks to our taste buds and our hearts.
There is a simplicity to Yakitori that makes it endlessly charming. Strips of chicken—sometimes thigh, breast, or even skin—are meticulously threaded onto bamboo skewers, then brushed with a savory-sweet tare sauce made from soy sauce, mirin, sake, and sugar. As the skewers grill over an open flame, the sauce caramelizes, creating a perfect balance of smoky, salty, and slightly sweet flavors.
For variety, Yakitori also embraces the whole chicken: tsukune (minced chicken meatballs), nankotsu (chicken cartilage), and even kawa (crispy skin). Paired with vegetables like scallions or shishito peppers, each skewer becomes a symphony of textures and tastes. It’s food that’s meant to be savored one bite at a time, offering something new with every turn of the skewer.
Yakitori nights are special among ourselves. We especially love it if we go to our favorite restaurant, Yakitori Glad, which is in the east side of Oahu. It gives us the feeling as if we are in Tokyo. Watching it prepared before our very eyes is as much a part of the experience as eating it.
Eating Yakitori is interactive, intimate. Each skewer is a conversation starter: Have you tried the tsukune yet? Don’t miss the scallion! Isn’t this tare sauce amazing? There is something magical about sharing a meal that requires your hands and your attention, bringing people closer with every bite.
Beyond its irresistible flavors, Yakitori offers surprising health benefits. Chicken, the primary ingredient, is a lean source of protein, supporting muscle health and overall energy. Grilling, as a cooking method, minimizes the need for excess oil, keeping the dish relatively light. The accompanying vegetables provide fiber and essential vitamins, creating a balanced meal in every skewer.
Even the tare sauce, though rich in flavor, contains ingredients that can support metabolism and provide antioxidants, thanks to the soy sauce and sake. Of course, moderation is key, but Yakitori proves that indulgence can coexist with mindful eating.
One of the reasons Yakitori has become our family’s favorite is its universal appeal. It suits every occasion—be it a casual dinner, a celebration, or a summer barbecue. The skewers are customizable to individual tastes: spice lovers can add shichimi togarashi, while those who prefer mild flavors can stick to the classic.
It’s also a dish that transcends cultural boundaries. While Yakitori is rooted in Japanese street food tradition, it feels right at home on our table, blending effortlessly with sides like rice, pickled vegetables, or even a fresh green salad.
For us, Yakitori is more than just a food; it is a celebration of connection, flavor, and nourishment. It is the meal we turn to when we want to treat ourselves, when we want to linger around the table just a little longer. With its smoky charm, healthful qualities, and endless versatility, Yakitori has earned its place as our family’s favorite dish—a skewer-bound delight that warms both our stomachs and our hearts.
To end, although for my family, Yakitori is number one—for sure you have your own family’s favorite meal, which is good. As I believe, sharing meals amongst families, friends, co-workers, even with new acquaintances, is such a powerful way to connect and bond with people. It strengthens or establishes bonds; shares and exchanges culture. As a communal thing, it can bring down barriers for sure.
Every time I write, I am keenly aware of my audience—the ones who might one day read my words, the ones I imagine sitting across from me, as if we are face to face, eye to eye. I appreciate them, these invisible readers who bring their own perspectives and experiences to the table. And yet, as much as I hold them in my mind, I understand that for my words to truly resonate, I must first write for myself. I must write with the passion and authenticity that only comes from engaging with something I know, something that speaks to my core. Because without that inner connection, my words are hollow, and my audience, perceptive as they are, would surely know it.
To write effectively, I must be fully invested. When I am deeply interested in what I’m writing about, that interest translates; it becomes a bridge between my ideas and my audience’s engagement. I have to write on topics I truly know or am passionate about, drawing from genuine understanding, so that when my words reach others, they carry weight, depth, and conviction. Writing without passion is like delivering a speech you don’t believe in—your words may flow, but they won’t land. For a persuasive argument to resonate, it must be something I, as the writer, am wholly convinced of.
But writing persuasively is never simply a one-sided exercise. It’s about anticipating counterarguments, respecting those opposing views, and addressing them in a way that honors my audience’s intelligence and perspective. I know that when I write, not everyone will agree. In fact, I welcome the dissent; it keeps the conversation dynamic, alive, and meaningful. Through respectful rebuttal and thoughtful consideration, I engage in a dialogue—not a monologue—synthesizing all views, my own included, until I arrive at something richer than where I started.
So, I write for myself first. I write with conviction, with passion, and with the knowledge that to engage my audience, I must start from a place of truth within myself. But I also write with the goal of “selling” my ideas, of conveying my perspective as convincingly as I can. To do that, I rely on facts, scientific evidence, and reliable sources, weaving together a foundation that strengthens my argument and demonstrates my respect for those who will read my words.
Ultimately, writing for myself and writing for my audience are not opposing goals. They are, in fact, two sides of the same coin. When I am deeply invested in what I write, that sincerity becomes my message, my means, and my appeal. It is in writing for myself that I truly write for you, inviting you to see as I see, think as I think, and perhaps, even feel as I feel.
September arrives on soft, golden feet, A quiet prelude to autumn’s grand symphony. It carries the scent of change in the breeze, Cool whispers weaving through the trees.
It is the beginning of my favorite season, When summer bows out with grace. The world begins its slow exhale, Wrapped in amber, rust, and lace.
September is the first brushstroke of fall, Its skies a canvas of gentler hues— The sun, mellow and warm as honey, Its light filtering through morning dew.
The leaves begin their whispered conversations, Turning to crimson, gold, and flame. Each tree a poet, reciting the tale Of nature’s eternal, cyclical game.
It is the time of apple orchards and hayrides, Of pumpkin patches and firelit nights. The air hums with the promise of change, Of sweaters, scarves, and cozy delights.
Schoolyards fill with laughter once more, Children with backpacks, dreams in their eyes. It is the season of new beginnings, Of turning pages, of hopeful tries.
September teaches us to let go gently, To find beauty in endings and embrace the unknown. Its charm is quiet, yet deeply profound— A transition where seeds of reflection are sown.
So, why do I love September so? It is a poem that nature writes with care. A month of balance, of dusk and dawn, Where stillness and transformation share.
And for those who pause to truly see, September holds the magic key— To love what was, to welcome what will be, And to find grace in life’s changing melody.
My heart has but one door, And though it stands locked, silently still, You hold the key—it’s yours alone, A truth no time or fate can kill.
Though time is not on our side, I let you go without bitter chains. For knowing you are loved, cared for, Softens the sharpest of my pains.
I know you’d disagree with me, Arguing love deserves its chance to fight. But how can joy truly flourish, When fairness is cast into the night?
Perhaps you’re right, but love is not selfish, It cannot thrive on dreams that deceive. And so, forgive me as I let go— A choice I grieve, yet still believe.
This love of ours is a paper boat, I sent it out to the endless sea. It may not reach your distant shore, Nor find its way back home to me.
But at least we have loved, deeply, fiercely, A spark that time can never take. And though we are not meant to be, My love for you will never break.
So here I stand, releasing your hand, Wishing you joy, setting you free. There will never be another you, Yet I will love you for eternity.
YouTube/Chet Baker/There Will Never Be Another You
When the sun first kisses the horizon, spilling its golden essence across the ocean, Waikīkī and Ala Moana awaken, two paradises etched into the heart of O‘ahu. They are more than destinations—they are chapters in the great narrative of life, where serenity and joy intermingle, offering the traveler a taste of something eternal.
The Magnetic Pull of Waikīkī
Waikīkī, a name whispered by trade winds, is where the ocean meets the soul. The beach here is not just a stretch of sand but a living canvas—soft grains that glisten like powdered pearls, caressed by waves that speak in soothing rhythms. For surfers, Waikīkī offers not merely sport but a communion with nature, its long, rolling waves inviting riders to dance upon the ocean’s crest. For others, it is a haven of leisure, where beach chairs and shady palms frame a view that could make poets weep.
To walk along Kalākaua Avenue is to stroll through a symphony of cultures. High-end boutiques, street performers, and the aroma of garlic shrimp from food trucks converge in a sensory celebration. Yet, Waikīkī is not just for tourists. Its sunsets—brushstrokes of pink, gold, and lavender—remind every onlooker, local and visitor alike, of life’s fleeting beauty.
The Tranquility of Ala Moana
While Waikīkī pulses with energy, Ala Moana Beach Park offers a quieter embrace. It is a sanctuary, a place where the hum of city life fades into the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Here, families picnic under sprawling banyan trees, joggers trace the coastline, and paddleboarders glide over glassy waters.
Ala Moana’s lagoon is a refuge for those seeking calm waters, ideal for wading, swimming, or simply floating beneath an azure sky. And the nearby Ala Moana Center, a shopper’s paradise, ensures no visit is without its indulgences. Yet, what makes this beach truly special is its egalitarian spirit—locals and tourists share the same sand, the same sunset, the same ocean breeze.
Why Waikīkī and Ala Moana Are My Favorites
These twin beaches, though distinct in character, are united by their ability to inspire. Waikīkī’s vibrant energy reminds us to savor life’s pleasures, while Ala Moana’s tranquility invites introspection. Together, they offer balance—a yin and yang of paradise.
In a world so often consumed by haste, Waikīkī and Ala Moana stand as reminders to pause, to breathe, to marvel. They are invitations not just to visit but to feel: the warmth of the sun, the cool of the ocean, the awe of nature’s grandeur. And so, whether I seek adventure, relaxation, or simply a moment of beauty, these beaches are more than worthy of one’s time—they are necessary for one’s soul.
Last, but not least, Waikīkī and Ala Moana are not merely places on a map; they are experiences that linger, memories that shimmer long after I’ve left their shores. So, no need to pack bags, I can leave behind the weight of the world, and answer their call. For in these sacred spaces, where the ocean sings and the sun smiles, I find a piece of myself.
Lyrics, Sentiments and Me 
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