The Ones That Left Never Return


There’s something that happens when our people leave the island chasing after the American dollar. It’s a promise that looks good on the outside—higher wages, more opportunity, the so-called American Dream. But what they don’t tell you is the price you pay once you get there. And I’m not just talking about money.

You trade in the sound of the ocean for traffic noise. You swap fresh air for smog, and quiet evenings for the hustle of a 9 to 5 that drains your spirit. You work all day just to make ends meet. Rent, bills, insurance, gas, food—everything that was once free or shared here back home, you now pay for with every drop of your time and energy.

And then there's the irony: back home, you could have it all in a couple of days—fresh fish from the ocean, fruits from the trees, laughter in the fale, and peace that doesn’t cost a thing. But over there, you spend 50 years chasing that dream, always working, never arriving.

The saddest part? Most don’t come back. The ones that left, they get stuck in the grind. They get used to it. Or maybe they’re ashamed to return empty-handed, still chasing what they thought they’d find overseas. But the truth is, the dream was never real—it was a distraction from everything we already had.

Out there, you're a number in a system. Back here, you're family. You're rooted. You belong. Sometimes, you don't realize what you had until you're too far gone to get it back. That's why I say: you should have never left the island in the first place. You've been deceived.

So this is for the ones who stayed. The ones who still hang their laundry in the breeze, who still gather around the umu, who know the true meaning of wealth isn’t in a paycheck, but in the way we care for each other, live with less, and have more peace.

And to those out there—remember: the island is still here. Waiting.

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