I’m writing this because a coffee shop I’ve spent much of my adult life in is closing. I know, in the grand scheme of things, that sounds very insignificant. But these things matter. These places matter.

Glazer’s Coffee has been a staple in the Moiliili area since I was a kid. It’s a haven for UH students, professors, and members of the general community to work, have deep, intellectual conversations, or just hang out with a cup of coffee.

I remember times when I would spend all day there, deep into writing my thesis. There was no real food other than candy and bagels, so I adapted to it and brought a Tupperware full of sandwich fillings to put in a bagel when I came to the store.

When the plan worked, it turned into a beautiful bagel sandwich, an amazing improvement over a plain bagel, and I showed the barista my new creations. When I came in one day when they were out of bagels… well, I had to eat the inside of the sandwich for lunch.

But it wasn’t always work, even though I spent a lot of time there. It was also the people I went there with that brought the place to life. My best friend from Korea had spent a semester at UH Manoa when I was a student there, and we would go to this cafe and talk nonstop over chai lattes and Madeline until almost 10 p.m.

This was before Covid, when the store was open so long. I remember the store looking like another world at night, with its warm lighting and colorful photos and paintings on the walls, the jazz music, and the brown tones of the wooden floor and furniture that gave the store a homely feel.

I’m writing this because I’m tired. Yes, I may be more sentimental than the average person. Things that are a great loss to me feel like nothing to the person next to me more often than I’d like to admit, which makes my feelings about most things in the world seem largely unrequited.

But other than that, I’m just tired. I’m sick of familiar places and faces disappearing because rents are too high, franchises move in, or a new complex is built. I’m sick of gathering places being marginalized because “people can buy their coffee somewhere else.”

Never again will the same people gather in this place and share their common presence with one another. A small community, gone. That alone is sad enough.

But I’m tired because this keeps happening and we can’t afford to keep allowing it to happen because otherwise what is the character of this place? Who are our neighbors? That person crossing the street?

When places that once felt like home are unrecognizable, something is wrong.

Of course, all of this has much bigger causes than just the loss of a single popular cafe. The exploding property prices in Hawaii, the equally high cost of living here, the encroachment of foreign corporations, the gentrification of old neighborhoods, a growing diaspora, housing struggles.

While these may seem like separate problems, they are all interrelated, and they all make it increasingly difficult to maintain a sense of community in a place like Hawaii, where we are supposed to be kamaaina – children of the land.

How do you become a child of the country when the country is constantly changing?

It is passed from one owner to another, it is built on and demolished, it is paved over, and it is valued for its monetary value rather than for the fact that it is aina – that which feeds and nourishes us. I am tired of seeing my favorite cafes disappear, but I am also tired of the overwhelming waves of monetary exchange that are constantly eroding our shores.

We all need food, and we can only get it if we stick to places where communities are built, not destroyed.