Carrying the Legacy, Bearing the Burden

What Does It Mean to Be Hawaiian in the Diaspora?

Leaving home is never easy—especially when your home is Hawaiʻi.

Being Hawaiian in the diaspora means waking up every day and remembering that your roots are across the ocean. It means carrying your culture in everything you do—not just for yourself, but for those who came before and those who come after. And it means learning to survive, thrive, and come back one day with more to give.

When I left Hawaiʻi, it wasn’t just a move—it was a sacrifice. I had to walk away from my entire life to chase opportunity, like so many others before me. Not because I didn’t love my home, but because staying had become nearly impossible. The cost of living, the lack of generational wealth, and the struggle to secure housing or stability left little room for growth.

Many of us didn’t have a head start. No land passed down. No family property to return to. Just a dream and the hope that maybe, if we go, we can build something to bring back.

A Harsh Reality for Hawaiians

Let’s talk about the truth: Hawaiians were once the most literate nation in the world. We had thriving systems of land stewardship, education, and innovation. But colonization, capitalism, and displacement have made it so that many kanaka now find themselves outsiders in their own homeland.

Wages in Hawaiʻi haven’t kept up with the price of housing or food. Even those who work hard, go to college, and try to “do everything right” often still can’t afford to live there. It’s not about laziness. It’s about systems. It’s about stolen land. And it’s about the reality that a paradise to outsiders has become unreachable for the people who belong to it.

I think about Pauahi often. As a proud graduate of Kamehameha Schools, I carry her vision with me. Her will, her legacy, was clear: to educate the children of Hawaiʻi so they may thrive. But the world we inherited is not cut out for us. We’re expected to succeed in a system that wasn’t built with kanaka in mind. Yet we keep pushing. That’s the kuleana.

Adapting, But Not Forgetting

Living in the diaspora has changed me. I’ve had to shift the way I speak just to be understood. I’ve had to explain my culture, over and over again, to people who don’t even know where Hawaiʻi is on a map. I’ve had to change my diet—not out of choice, but because poi, fresh fish, and laulau aren’t easily found where I am.

I’ve had to watch coworkers casually spend time with their families or take long vacations, while I have little to no opportunity to see mine in Hawaiʻi—and when I do need time off, even for being sick, it’s met with disapproval. Imagine having to work twice as hard just to afford a rare visit home. I’ve smiled through those conversations, knowing they could never understand.

And I’ve learned to carry that with grace.

But through all of it, I’ve held tight to my identity. Because to be Hawaiian in the diaspora is to walk with deep purpose. It means learning, adapting, and preparing—to one day come home and teach, uplift, and heal.

Kuleana in Every Step

Diaspora Hawaiians carry a unique kind of kuleana. We represent our culture in spaces that were never meant for us. We teach our keiki our stories even when the textbooks don’t. We carry our haʻaheo and lāhui loud in places that don’t understand it. And we build, not just for ourselves—but for a future where our people can thrive again in our own homeland.

ʻUhane Hawaiʻi was born from this exact journey—a space to create, share, and connect through the lens of diaspora. It’s a reminder that no matter how far we go, our spirit (ʻuhane) is rooted in the land, in our kūpuna, and in our shared vision of return.

We are not lost.

We are planting seeds.

And one day, we will come home.

With ʻUhane, From Me to You.

ʻUhane Hawaiʻi.