The strangest moment in Pokémon Sun and Moon was when I battled another trainer on my father's grave.
In case it isn't clear, this wasn't part of the game's story—the Hau'oli Cemetery of Sun and Moon represents the real-life Honolulu cemetery where my family is buried. This experience gave me a surreal, out-of-body feeling, as if the game was some kind of a mirror dimension transporting me outside my own life. The feeling persisted as I wandered Alola, encountering familiar places and things that were just askew enough that I could recognize them, but couldn't relate to them. Here was the beach where I learned to snorkel, the place I had my first date, and, yes, even the graveyard where my family was buried. Game Freak had faithfully rendered my childhood in cartoon miniature, but also locked me on the outside—as if I were examining my hometown inside a snow globe.
That's when it hit me: this was not a game about being a local. In fact, Pokémon Sun and Moon is intentionally built from a visitor's perspective—a vision of Hawai'i at the height of the Japanese tourism boom.
When you're from the Alola (ahem, sorry, Aloha) State, you eventually get used to seeing the islands from an outside perspective. Whether it's Elvis strumming a uke in Blue Hawai'i, the pan-Pacific mishmash of Moana, or "mysterious island" stories like Jurassic Parkand Lost, everyone from Jack London to Michael Bay has had a crack at interpreting the 50th State.
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