My family has lived in Lahaina for over a century. The devastating Maui wildfires destroyed everything we had in a few hours
On August 8, wildfires decimated my hometown of Lāhainā, Maui, where my family's lived since 1884.
The inferno destroyed my childhood home, our family business, our workplaces, and our belongings.
The future of our town is uncertain, but seeing the resilience of our community is a silver lining.
On Tuesday, August 8, I saw reports that a brushfire had appeared in West Maui, passing through my hometown Lāhainā, where my parents and many friends lived.
Widespread disruption to cell reception prevented me from getting in touch with my family throughout the day, but I was able to connect with my childhood friend and neighbor who told me her family was waiting things out back home in Lāhaina. It gave me a sense of relief.
I further reassured myself when I read a brushfire, which ignited in Lāhainā at around 6:30 a.m., had been declared 100% contained by 9 a.m. — a feat accomplished well before I'd even woken up.
I continued checking for updates about the fire throughout the day, but didn't see many. I'd convinced myself that my family and hometown were out of harm's way — it seemed like the situation in Lāhainā was under control.
I didn't know it yet, but a few hours later would be the beginning of an unprecedented journey that would test my personal resilience, deepen my community connections, and showcase the indomitable spirit of Hawaii.
My worries came rushing back within a few hours as friends began getting in touch with me
Everything changed when I received a text from another friend and neighbor just after 4 p.m., informing me that the fire in Lāhainā had reignited. It wasn't contained, she wrote. "The fire is bad here."
Fifteen minutes later, another friend who lives on a houseboat in Lāhainā sent me photos of a thick cloud of black smoke looming over the town.
I was struck with a sense of urgency. I grew desperate to ensure my parents' safety, contact our neighbors, and relay the whereabouts of my important documents and sentimental items in their home.
But cell service hadn't gotten any better and my attempts to reach my parents remained futile.
At last, at 8:30 p.m., I received a call from my mom through a family friend's phone. My parents had successfully evacuated.
Sleep that night was elusive. Outside my living room window, flames flickered in the distance, signaling the ongoing battle of fires Upcountry and in Kīhei.
The fire had destroyed decades of memories and my family's livelihood
At 6:30 a.m. the next morning, my parents finally made it to my apartment. While I was relieved to see them, they came with devastating news.
"I think we lost the house," my mom said.
A few hours later, we poured over aerial footage of Lāhainā and were able to confirm that our home had been reduced to smoldering rubble.
This was the house I grew up in, where my dad had lived for the past 46 years. He'd left thinking they'd be able to go back and that smoke damage would be their main grievance.
But everything that had been left behind was gone, including remnants of my childhood: the majority of my baby photos and videos, a stuffed animal I've cherished since I was 2 years old, letters my dad wrote me from before I was born to the day he dropped me off at my college dorm, and heirloom jewelry from both of my grandmothers.
It wasn't our only loss. My family's property, the Banyan Inn Marketplace — a Lāhainā staple that housed many businesses — had vanished. My dad's role as a school counselor at King Kamehameha III Elementary School and my work as a tarot reader at the Beyoutiful Soul Shop boutique were also gone, as the fire had destroyed both buildings.
Lāhainā, my beloved hometown and a place generations of my family have lived in since 1884, was forever changed.
We still don't know the full extent of all that has been lost, but the unity that's emerged is extraordinary
Despite facing unprecedented loss, my family remains grateful that our loved ones are safe and accounted for, especially since this isn't the case for everyone.
As of Monday, the death toll has reached at least 99, making this the deadliest wildfire in modern US history. That number is expected to increase, as only 25% of the affected Maui wildfire burn area has been searched.
We are still staggering in the aftermath. Every day, more questions crop up with very few answers. This week has felt like years.
But while our town's future may be uncertain, the unity that's emerged in the face of this devastation is extraordinary.
Witnessing our community come together to support each other by delivering donations and medication, sharing information, and holding space for our collective grief has given me hope.
Though our physical town may be gone, the spirit of Lāhainā is stronger than ever — and we are determined to rise from the ashes.