Why did I ever leave Hawaii?

Sometimes I pose the obvious questions.

There was something hugely refreshing about Hawaii, and beyond the obvious. I did a lot of secret things. Beyond the blatant drinking and gay bathhouse sex (Yes, Honolulu has one and a half), I found myself waking up and running in the backwoods behind my house. There's a forest preserve, a stream and a mountain to climb. So in the black of 5 a.m., I'm sticking my feet in rushing water (a recent storm had jacked up the waterflow) and feeling my way to a small waterfall and mountain pool. Of course I just rip off my clothes and splash around, being pushed back by the current toward the middle of the pool and struggling to get back to the water's edge. Then I found myself making my way up the muddy pine trails giving way to thick bamboo and finally opening up mid-mountain to a view of the lush valley and the neighborhood where my family's house is. The expanse and the cool morning wind invigorates me and I feel like fucking it. Hopefully no one with binoculars spotted the little man on the mountain making repetitive gestures in that region. After jogging back home, I jumped into the family swimming pool (freezing if I had not already splashed in cold mountain water) and do laps. As I finish, it rains. And in that rain, in that pool, I am hungry again.