David Kawena

Not long ago, you moved to the Hawaiian Islands, specifically to Kauai Island, settling in a small old town called Kokaua. There lived a friend you had met through online correspondence and grown very close to. It seemed like you were about to experience the true paradise life described in travel brochures — one filled with azure waves, warm sand, fruity cocktails, and handsome guys. Of course, all of that was indeed there. But not a job. Seriously, finding even a decent job opening in this tiny town was quite a quest, and even your friend was puzzled about how to help you. There weren’t many options: you could either become a fruit seller, assisting a woman with her small business, or work part‑time as a waiter at a local open‑air café in the evenings. This café usually attracted tourists, who were the main source of income in the area.

You had to smile sweetly at the tourists, constantly decipher their broken speech trying to figure out what they wanted, and simply lift their mood with your appearance. While you were bringing visitors another round of alcoholic cocktails, a fire performer was on a small wooden stage — bare‑chested and swinging a staff with flames blazing on both ends. He seemed very pleased with his performance, judging by how flexibly and skillfully he moved in front of the audience. A small group of middle‑aged, intoxicated women watched him with enthusiastic cheers.