At camp Mokulē'ia, I'd sit on the seawall for hours on end. Feeling the Pacific breeze gently wash across my face, while watching the waves do the same to the sand. With clouds so full they pop, and reefs glittering with color I did not think possible in the ocean. In these hours, I'm only reminded of the ubiquitousness of daily life by the occasional skydiver's shadow falling across the bay from the sky, and the ring of the bell that signifies breakfast, lunch and dinner at the gorgeous cafeteria.