It's hard to believe it's been a full year since Hawaii. The trip feels like it took place both just yesterday and a lifetime ago.
At the start of the trip, I had barely written anything in years; was heartbroken; overall, was comfortable, but lived a half-life--one ruled by fear. By the end of the trip, I was truly a transmuted woman--felt empowered, grounded; I've been working to maintain and build upon that strength ever since.
Maui gave me the pause and presence I needed to put everything I'd conceptually learned over the years about nurturing and loving myself into practice. It was there that I'd found peace as a mode of existence rather than as a fugacious state.
A year later, I reflect on a few highlights from Maui--to remind myself of how far I've come; to give myself fuel to further push myself harder and, more importantly, love myself softer.
Here are some of my most cherished, treasured memories from my time on the island:
Volunteering in Honokowai Valley
I always do copious amounts of research before every vacation I take. It's important to me to get a grasp on what's happening politically/culturally in the spaces I enter; to learn what I can do to not only avoid being :･ﾟ✧ another ignorant tourist :･ﾟ✧, but to also find ways to actively support the local communities I'll be connecting with.
Before I traveled to Italy, I read dozens of articles on cultural nuances/customs to be mindful of and spent weeks using language learning apps to learn a bit of Italian. Before I traveled to the Philippines, I compiled a list of farmer's markets so that I could support local farmers and read both US and PH news sites to stay abreast of issues plaguing the motherland. With my trip to Hawaii, I bookmarked restaurants owned by locals and found a housing option owned by a native Hawaiian because I wanted to be sure my money would be pocketed by an actual person, not a corporate hotel entity or property flipper capitalizing on Hawaii's beauty.
Even so, I knew I wanted to do more to give back to the island--especially as Hawaii is too often seen as a destination/getaway, rather than a real place with real people; so, I scoured the internet for a grassroots organization to contribute my time to. I came across a community-based organization I felt aligned with, Maui Cultural Lands, and reached out to Ekolu, the organization's founder's son, to set aside a date to volunteer.
That day ended up being one of my favorites on the island.
It started early. Us volunteers met in a parking lot. It was there that I met Laura, another solitary traveler. We connected and made small talk while waiting for the other volunteers to arrive.
Once everyone was accounted for, we left the parking lot. Ekolu drove us up a couple of miles in the back of his huge pickup truck to Honokowai Valley.
While bouncing along in the back, Laura and I chatted over the loud of the wind: we talked about how we came to be traveling alone, relationships, and what spirituality meant to us. Our conversation came to a halt when the truck did.
We got out and took in the scenery--watched dragonflies dart by, felt the heat of the day already coming on. Ekolu walked us all to the entrance of the valley, but before we started our descent down the trail, he paused to share some insight into the land's history. Ekolu noted that the valley had been home to hundreds of Hawaiians before it was made uninhabitable from years of :･ﾟ✧ colonial activity :･ﾟ✧ and that it was a spiritual place.
We then took a moment for pause. We asked the spirits there for permission to enter; released the energy we'd been carrying with us to make room for new, good; inhaaaaaaled, exhaaaaaled; set our intentions; and then began the hike.
There, we spent the day connecting with and restoring the land. We cut down invasive plant species (brought over by said :･ﾟ✧ colonizers :･ﾟ✧) at their root and collected the vines. Laura and I worked together most of the day; talking while snipping, bagging: more on family, but also, on politics, skincare routines, children, business ideas, anything, everything, etc. etc. etc.
The sun made its way through the shade of the huge tree leaves and caused us to all but soak through our shirts; I'd take breaks, sip on some water, and chat with Ekolu's mother and other senior volunteers. They shared deep history about the island with me and I learned much about the island's delicate ecosystem, how leaves and nuts were/are used in cultural ceremonies, and the role the government had been playing in preserving the valley.
We worked for a few hours until Ekolu rounded us up for lunch. Gathered in a circle, we enjoyed the meals we'd packed and brought for ourselves, traded stories, and enjoyed some of the fresh, organic fruit a local had picked and thoughtfully brought to share with us.
Thinking back, I remember the moment we all sat down to eat lunch together fondly. I was so, so present in the moment--my body was grateful to be at rest; my mind was relaxed; and a fulfilling, happy buzz of energy coursed through me--my heart was made full by the meaningful connections I'd developed all day--with fellow volunteers and Ekolu, with the land.
When lunch ended, we tidied up and made our way back to the truck.
Bouncing back down to the parking lot to part ways, I thought to myself I'd be sure to volunteer again, the next time I visited.
Volunteering that day was so nourishing and it reminded me of why I travel with intention: I recognize that it's a privilege to take time from work and explore; that my voyages and experiences are not separated from the lands I travel to/the people who walked them before me. Having an emotional connection to traveling and doing what I can to combat a little bit of the destructive environmental footprint that is travel makes my experiences all that much more deeper, impactful. I wholeheartedly couldn't travel without connecting to community in some way.
Walking the Labyrinth at Dragon's Teeth
Laura and I didn't fully part ways after volunteering.
Just days before the end of my trip, I got a text from her, asking if I wanted to meet up for the second (and last) time.
Naturally, as :･ﾟ✧ two spiritual gals who are interested in spiritual things :･ﾟ✧, we decided we'd meet for a sunrise walk of the labyrinth at Dragon's Teeth. I set my alarm early for the next morning.
I arose, my body still heavy with sleep, stretched, brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag, and started driving over, a light rain plap plap'ing away at my windshield.
We met at the parking lot, greeted each other, and started walking. Our brains starting to wake up, we spoke slowly during the foot-squelching, misty walk... until we reached the labyrinth. Then, silence.
We took deep breaths; walked in one at a time.
As we walked, I could feel us both entering a meditative state, becoming more and more in tune with the present moment; less with each other, less with our own thoughts even.
With every step, brush of salty sea air that whipped around my skin, and minute that stretched the sunlight in, I found myself more and more able to just be--as a soul; not as a person ruled by any postulations or emotions. Walking the labyrinth, I wasn't just at ease, I just... was. I was able to experience meditation actively, in motion.
I'm not sure how long we stayed there--time felt non-existent--but when Laura and I both took our last step out of the labyrinth, we stood together silently.
We stayed like that for a long time, both knowing the other didn't feel quite ready to let go of the state of tranquility, to return to manmade chaos.
Some time passed and more people started to show up.
After a few minutes, we felt ready to leave; not yet willing to part from each other though, we walked together to a beach nearby.
We talked more about, well, again, everything.
At the beach, we sat down and watched the waves. She asked me what I was going to do on my last day on the island before my flight. I told her I hadn't been to Hana yet (the one place that everyone traveling to Maui visits). Acknowledging the look of surprise on her face, I told her I was terrified of going on my own--I'd heard it was an arduous drive and a frightening one at that. I mean, a 5-hour drive... of switchbacks... on the edge of a mountain? By myself? No way. But Laura told me I had to do it, that I'd be upset with myself if I didn't, and who knew when I'd be back on the island?
I'd tried to convince myself and come to terms with the fact I'd see it another time, but after Laura's insisting and hearing about her experience, I said fuck it, we ball and set an alarm for 4 AM the next day to beat the traffic.
Laura and I talked a bit more until we decided to part ways for real. We hugged and acknowledged what was obvious--that there was a great energy shared between us, we were glad to have met the other, and we knew the other was destined for good things.
My connection with her was one of the best parts of my trip and I'm glad we stayed in contact after volunteering together... and after the labyrinth.
A few months later, back in LA, she'd crossed my mind, so I texted her just to let her know. We've chatted a couple of times since. And she sent me a Christmas card. I can see it now, as it hangs on my fridge.
The Road to and the Beach at Hana
The road to Hana--an experience unlike any other. No other excursion has ever caused me to look so deeply inwards, has ever been so emotional or challenging (and I've experienced navigating the outdoors alone while undergoing ego death on mushrooms for fuck's sake lmao).
I'd been too anxious about driving the road alone because I kept thinking about how nauseous and sick my ex felt from the road's twists and turns the last time he went; I'd read stories about multiple people dying after driving/falling off the cliffs. The night before, I tossed and turned, plagued by the thought of driving the road to Hana without anyone else--how there'd be no reception in case anything happened to me, how I didn't really know anyone on the island. I slept a good 3 hours. And then my alarm went off.
It was too late to turn back though--I was committed.
I packed up my car and started the drive to a lesser-known black sand beach I'd found (I spent hours combing deeply through articles and Reddit threads to find a less touristy beach). I drove on the highway until, a few hours in, I found myself at the start of the road to Hana.
Now, I feel the need to say that being behind the wheel is actually one of my simple pleasures in life, truly--at the risk of sounding like an escapist character from a shitty coming-of-age film, no feeling compares to that of driving fast, windows down, music loud, body and lips moving to the vibrations--I love driving and maneuver well, brake with ease, and turn with precision... when I'm not discombobulated by the idea of plunging hundreds of feet to my death. When I reached the start of the road to Hana, I felt nervous and was at the edge of my (car) seat--anxious to navigate the switchbacks, narrow roads, and steep cliffs.
However, I think my :･ﾟ✧ ancestors or spirit guides :･ﾟ✧ must have been present or something because it felt like the universe was really saying the anxiety this bitch is exuding is exhausting, let's give her a local to drive in front of her... and that local, driving his massive truck, in all his brash/unafraid-to-honk-angrily-at-inconsiderate-and-gawking-tourists glory (unless you don't listen to locals or read about Hana, everyone knows to let locals pass--there are residents who live, work there and they have no time or energy to deal with tourists slowing them down), ended up being the very salve I needed to drive with comfort. He sped through the sides of the mountains with ease, without fear. Behind him, I found the courage to do so too--still cautious, but revved up. It was because of him that I was able to drive the way I normally do, to feel the freedom I usually feel when I'm in the driver's seat, to feel excited about heading to Hana instead of fearful.
I weaved through, learned the curves of the mountainside until I arrived... sorta.
Getting over my fear of driving the wildest road I'd ever driven was the first obstacle in getting to the beach. The next was actually getting to the beach.
There were no signs for the street the beach was on.
Nor were there any for the hike to get there.
I wanted a practically hidden beach and I sure as hell got it. I drove back and forth, betwixt the area where I'd previously read the beach was located. I got out of my car a couple of times to look around. After a few minutes, I decided to just park and amble until I found clues of how to get there.
I saw stickers on a block of wood that alluded to where the start of the hike was and ran with it.
Then I hopped a fence,
maneuvered around some boulders,
and ducked under some trees,
until I found a tiiiiiiiiiiny path amid a sea of overgrown grass.
I started walking the path until I saw a field filled with dragonflies. They hovered and flew by, unbothered by me... but I was bothered by them. Sweaty, frustrated at how long it was taking me to get to the beach, I stood irate and paralyzed at the sight of their iridescent wings. The ones in Honokowai buzzed by in the distance; here, there were dozens of them and none were afraid to get close and zip by me.
I stopped in the middle of the path, wanting badly to turn around--I'd just confronted a fear of driving the road to Hana; I wasn't ready to confront my decade-long deep fear of bugs (yes, I'm aware, dragonflies are harmless, as are the butterflies I'm terrified of--I'm fully cognizant of the fact that my fear of bugs is irrational). But as if to say you're already here, bitch, keep moving, the dragonflies only came that much closer to me, triggering me out of my freeze response and sparking my flight one. So, looking like an absolute clown, I ran.
I ran through the field until I reached the end of the path. I was heaving, sweating, absolutely displeased by the fact that a tiny creature that consciously bumps into fixed objects all the time had the power to turn me into a punk ass bitch. Nonetheless, I made it and was proud of myself for not turning around--there was a point in time in which I might've.
At the trail's end, I could see the beach, but there wasn't a clear path down--my next problem to solve. I looked for a way to make my descent and, after attempting a couple of routes, walking around different sides of the cliff, and casually almost falling off of it, I found the right path down.
It was a steep, near 90° incline walkway down to the beach; the only support being thick tree branches and a large rope.
I wiped the sweat off my brow, pagpag'ed my shirt, rearranged my gear, and climbed down.
And it was all worth it--the drive, getting lost, everything--because the beach was gorgeous and the day I spent on it was surreal.
With my feet planted in the black sand, I reveled in the beach's beauty: the lush, lush vegetation; clear, blue ocean with powerful waves that slammed hard against the sand; craggly rock formations that showed wear from time; caves; and... solitude.
No one else was on the beach.
Granted, I left at 4 AM and arrived at a time when most would just be waking up, but the beach remained empty the entire duration of my stay. I felt as though the solitude was a gift--accepted it and got lost in my thoughts, myself; connected with nature.
I soaked up the sun, felt the cool ocean water lick my ankles as I walked along the shore; let my mind run free. I thought a lot about how few moments I get to be idle. I watched the clouds go by; felt overjoyed to have this time to be still, not be at the beck and call of responsibilities, or at the ready of an alarm. At one point, I stopped and stared at husks of crabs and lobsters I'd come across, battered by waves and pushed ashore--took in how amazing the ocean is: how she gives life, how she takes it away. I reflected on everything that led me to this exact moment in time; expressed gratitude to my ancestors and all the spirits of those who had walked this beach before me. I spent the day like this: really feeling my feelings, thinking my thoughts; doing whatever my mind and body wanted in the moment, whether that was exploring the caves and stimulating my body and curiosity, allowing my mind to roam as I playfully skipped rocks, sitting and gazing out at the ocean, or... writing.
While on the beach, I found myself able to write again; time flew by as I wrote everything down.
I wrote about my feelings about my recent breakup. I wrote down a pros and cons list for a job opportunity I was gunning for, but didn't 100% want. I wrote lines of poetry about my mom. I wrote up a checklist of all the qualities in myself I wanted to breathe more life into. I wrote down business ideas I had. I wrote a wishlist of all the qualities I wanted in a future partner.
For the past 3 years, I'd barely written anything. I hadn't felt I had the space or capacity to daydream or really just be creative about anything. I was a writer who didn't write for so long; on the beach, it felt like all the backed up words were finally ready to come out.
The words have been tumbling out ever since.
Eating Malasadas at Home Maid Bakery
I mentioned earlier that I'd bookmarked a number of Hawaiian-owned restaurants to visit and I'd made it through quite a few on my list. I ate my way across the island; enjoyed the comfort of hand-pulled noodles, cubes of fresh-caught fish, succulent bites of coconut shrimp, and so much more, but towards the end of my trip, I realized I hadn't yet had malasadas. Once I realized this, I hopped in my car to grab some.
Unfortunately, every highly-rated spot on my list that served them happened to be closed--but I was determined to try the dessert before I flew back to LA, so I looked for a spot that was open. I found a couple of options, but decided to go with Home Maid Bakery because the reviews had me laughing out loud.
Everyone commented on how bomb the malasadas were, but all the 1-star reviews made note of the allegedly hostile energy of the owners, who apparently didn't take well to tourists/mainlanders. Maybe it's because I could empathize, as an Angeleno who can't stand transplants treating LA like a playground; maybe it's because I felt nostalgic for my years working in restaurants where lines formed out the door for the food and not the service, where angry Asian women called me "girl" by name for years while still treating me like their family as they pushed me to do well in school and teased me about customers who flirted with me, but I felt drawn to this establishment. I called to make sure that they were open; sure enough, I was greeted by a gruff voice that curtly confirmed their business hours. I thanked them, hung up and started heading over.
When I walked in, I wasn't paid any mind; so, I perused the shop--looked at the goods they had on display in fridges, then, at the ones behind the glass by the register.
I saw some Filipino desserts and overheard the employees speaking Tagalog, so I inquired, asked the women working by the register, if they were Filipino. They said they were; looked me up and down; then inquired back, a little bit of excitement behind their asking.
After the usual ping-pong match of verification I'd grown accustomed to, considering my lighter complexion and "non-traditional" Filipino features--"yes, I'm Filipino", "yes, I really am Filipino", "yes, both my parents are Filipino", and "they're both from Manila"--their entire demeanor changed. They became warm, bubbly, excited to acknowledge me as a customer and they started speaking to me in Tagalog.
We ended up conversing about deep topics--talking about life philosophies, love, relationships, family dynamics, parenting, the way tourists treat them and the island, and religion.
When the topic of me taking this trip alone came up, they told me to come back every day so that I wouldn't be by myself. The sentiment behind their words made me emotional.
When I remembered what I was there for, asked them if they had any malasadas left because I didn't see any, one of the ladies told me to wait while the other walked through the kitchen door behind them. They fried me up a fresh, whole new batch.
I devoured them. The dough was light, the custard was rich, and the powdered sugar clung to the hot pastry. They were so good.
I stayed for half an hour longer just talking with them; enjoying hot, sugary malasadas.
I thanked them for their kindness, for the food; when they sent me off, I felt as though I was just leaving a Tita's house.
Sitting in my car, eating another malasada I took for the road, I sat with the tenderness I was feeling. Visiting this bakery, speaking to these women, I was reminded of how warm and giving my people are; how Filipinos create a sense of community, family wherever we go; and how food and sharing it ties into so much of our identity.
There are so many other treasured memories I have from my trip to Maui--nights getting drunk with other locals I met at a brewery, scenic drives I took, days I spent lounging on beaches, and more--but these experiences are the ones that stand out most prominently to me.
I'll never forget or stop being appreciative for what Maui gave me, for what it taught me I could give myself--for how I rediscovered myself as a free-spirited woman, someone I'd forgotten I was.
Every day, I work to be as grounded, but carefree; community-involved; and full of love as I was on the island. :･ﾟ✧ Capitalism :･ﾟ✧ makes that hard, but the soul-nourishing experiences I had in Maui are ones that will stick with me for a lifetime, ones that fuel me. I'm committed to cultivating my strength, my heart; that looks like working on my healing/growth consistently and being a person that empowers others do the same.
If you're reading this, thank you for reading about my trip and my ongoing journey; I hope you're doing well on yours.