Hawaii has a lingering poignancy that one doesn't initially notice. "You hear it in their songs, a deep sadness," my photo Prof. Jason Francisco once explained as he strummed his ukulele & sang a melancholic Hawaiian mele. Being one of the most remote places on earth, its natural beauty is unparalleled, but beyond the bustle of tourism, there's a stillness in the way of life that makes one contemplate. Venture a bit outside of tourist hot-spots, & take a moment to delve into its narrative at the Bishop Museum & Iolani Palace, & you'll soon begin to realize that its ancient history is rife with struggles: there has always been trouble in paradise. On the surface, it flourishes with lush blooms; on the inside, it wilts.

I was only three weeks old when my family moved to the capital Honolulu, on the island of O'ahu. We relocated to Atlanta by the time I got to junior high, but they circled back a decade later. My paternal family, along with my Buddhist nun godmothers on Maui, remained & further established life there. I often return to visit loved ones, & each time I immerse myself in its stories along with my family's unique history of being Buddhist refugees that adopted ancient Hawaiian traditions like observing Pele, the Volcano Goddess. I've been questioning the intertwining native & local cultures that make us who we are. Here is an ongoing documention of my personal journey exploring my childhood home, from mauka to makai (mountain to sea).

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