Passage I

Ukulele Life

My older sister was a guitar buff and my idol when I was growing up. She would teach me songs on her acoustic guitar now and then after school and on long family road trips to the beach. In those moments, my sister and I were the closest we’ve ever been. And my guitar itself felt like, well, family.

When my sister left Chicago for college in California, I began carting my guitar around everywhere: to school, to work, to friends houses. Years later, my guitar accompanied me on business trips. No matter where I was, playing it made me feel a little bit closer to home.

But one day, after landing in Honolulu, Hawaii, for an extended trip, I couldn’t locate my guitar on the luggage carousel. Panicked, I assailed airport personnel, who assured myself that they would try to recover my beloved instrument. At that moment of my extended trip, continuing the trip without it seemed impossible.

My worries began to dissipate, otherwise, as I walked out of the airport and upon the balmy Hawaiian air. In front of me, a man was playing what looked like a miniature guitar. Warm, mellow tones accrued from the instrument, complementing the lyrical rhythm of the Hawaiian words he sang. It was a ukulele.

As soon as I could, I bought a ukulele of my own. I began to linger on the beach, where several native Hawaiians often played. I watched them for hours, my ukulele in my hands, and practiced. Unlike the guitar, which has six strings, my ukulele had four; to make the same chords with the uke, I had to learn completely different finger positions. I also had trouble with dexterity at first because the neck of the uke is much narrower then that of a guitar. I had to retrain my fingers to make smaller movements in order to shape the chords.

When I wasn’t working, I was on the beach, losing myself in the bright notes of the uke. Eventually, I began playing music like “He eia” as the locals. And the sound of the ukulele is synonymous with the romance and beauty of Hawaii’s beaches.