MAUI

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I had the day off—at the time, I was working as a nanny and the family had traveled to Maui for the week. We were staying at a resort on Ka’anapali Beach, an oceanfront hotel full of White Lotus-esque luxury I had never experienced before as a broke college student.

I grew up in a big family, my parents solidly blue collar, and vacations didn’t exist in our world. There were always car problems, groceries to buy, clothes we outgrew, school supplies, braces and doctor’s appointments. The daily cost of life always took precedence over our impractical dreams of turquoise beaches and pink lemonade sunsets. When I told my parents I was going to Hawaii, my dad said he was proud of me, and asked me to bring him some sand in a jar. I joked and asked him if he had ever heard of Pele’s Curse.

When we landed at the airport women greeted us at baggage claim, smiling as they slipped colorful leis around our necks. We visited Lahaina the next day, stopped by the charming shops that sold art and chocolate, I bought packets of Macadamia nuts and fridge magnets for my parents. We sat beneath the banyan tree, stared in wonder at its innumerable branches draped in dangling vines (fun fact: they are actually aerial roots) and took photos of the kids smiling beneath the boughs. Later in the day we ate on the outdoor deck at Lahaina Fish Co. while the waves splashed below. The parents sipped tropical cocktails and scrolled on their phones while the kids happily munched chicken nuggets and french fries. It all felt like a dream as I watched the rose gold sun set beneath a shimmering horizon, savoring each tender forkful of my mahi mahi. I remember how friendly everyone was on Front Street, and how the ancient banyan tree emitted a very real energy, its enormous canopy sheltering the neighborhood like a wise, ancient mother. If those branches could talk, the stories they could tell…

There were flamingos wandering and men holding macaw parrots in the hotel lobby, potted orchids and the whitest, plushest of towels in the bathroom. The coffee machines in our suites were stocked with Kona coffee and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. I remember watching in horror as the kids ate chocolate on the beds, afraid of staining the pristine sheets, the gleaming pearl-colored duvet. Every morning I left some cash for the housekeeping team— I felt bad about the snack crumbs all over the carpet, the mountain of damp towels left on the floor. The rooms were right on the water, and at night the sound of the waves lulled me into deep, dreamless sleep.

Once the kids fell asleep my shifts officially ended, and I would walk around the resort with my headphones on, inhaling the night blooming jasmine. Tiki torches illuminated the beach side restaurant, and I walked by couples drinking pink martinis and picking crab legs from silver seafood towers. Those were some of my best nights— laying on the beach and staring up at the stars, thick clusters of them shimmering against the deep blue night sky, palm fronds swishing in the breeze.

I liked to sit in the lobby’s plush leather chairs and people watch, feeling out of place in my oversized t shirts and Birkenstocks as I watched elegant women wearing long dresses breezing through the glass doors, their shiny hair swishing and Alhambra bracelets glinting. So many men wearing heavy Rolexes, too much cologne, grimly handing their wives Goyard and Vuitton bags to the bellhops. It was claustrophobic, being around that much wealth, and I wasn’t surprised to hear that almost none of the guests said thank you to the staff. I tried to make up for it by profusely, almost apologetically, thanking anyone who did anything for me. Lower middle class guilt aside, I was intoxicated by Maui and its lush, surreal beauty. I never imagined I would get to experience this firsthand. When the family surprised me by giving me Friday off that week, I decided to explore the island.

I hopped in my rental car with my big straw hat on and started the journey. First, breakfast: fresh poke from the deli and a thick slice of passionfruit vegan cheesecake—I still think about that cake and all attempts I’ve tried have yet to come even close to the original. Driving through the outskirts of town, I passed by a huge mango tree dripping with fruit. There was something so beautiful and kind of sad about the fallen mangoes left on the ground, the air sticky with sweetness.

I made my way toward Kahekili Highway, blasting Tame Impala with the windows down. I took some photos with the disposable 35mm camera I brought, and that day I drove around West Maui was a magical one. I felt the spirit of the island say hello and show me a glimpse of its soul, tell me some of its secrets. What a gift it was.

For some reason, I was drawn to the roadside memorials—there were a lot of them, and something about the tragedy of unexpected death contrasted against the island’s beauty struck a chord with me. Driving by the sites, I found myself getting out of the car and going right up to the flowers, slightly haunted by seeing the physical mementos so close: a McDonald’s soda cup, a beaded necklace, someone’s laminated photo. I always said a little prayer before I took a picture. That’s something I think we forget about the dead—they are so much more than their last moments.

Kahekili Highway was definitely the most dangerous—and exhilarating—drive I’ve ever done. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice to drive alone, but I was very confident in my driving skills, one lane roads and cliff-side drops be damned. There were no guardrails, and the road often bottlenecked to a comically narrow lane that only one car at a time could pass. The roadside memorials I drove by started to make sense—I wondered how people navigated at night, with no streetlights or guardrails to keep their cars from plunging into the rocks below. God forbid it rained, the dirt roads would turn into slick mud slush.

That was the thing about a beautiful, isolated place: it was so fragile, and any number of things could go wrong. I felt something keeping me safe, though. As strange as it sounds, I believed some sort of omnipresent white light surrounded me. The spirit of the island felt friendly, rewarding my curiosity, appreciating my bravery. In return for respect, it gave me a glimpse of itself: the lush, green hills and cartoonishly plush clouds, hyper-real, quiet as a secret. I felt like the only person on earth.

Route 340 was a dream, and I turned up the music and blissed out on a two hour drive that eventually led me to a church. Not a soul was around, so I wandered and found a pink shed with a flower-covered mirror hanging on it that seemed like a magical portal. I started to drive back, getting worried about the prospect of being on Kahekili Highway anywhere close to night, and stopped at an overlook on the way back. I asked a friendly tourist to snap my picture, the one at the top of this page.

The sun was melting over the horizon when I pulled over the side of the road, entranced by a small beach. The waves glimmered aquamarine and caught my eye, and I walked around a massive tangle of mangrove roots to sit down and watch the water. I had the beach all to myself, and was tempted to swim, but the shark warning sign posted nearby was enough to dissuade me. Maui giveth, and Maui taketh away—I knew enough by now to never push it, the island’s energy required self control. I sat down on the lush warm sand, entranced. About 20 feet from shore, a fin poked out from the surface, as if daring me to venture in. I sat and watched what looked like a massive tiger shark patrolling the beach, its blurry shadow a surreal contrast to the shimmering waves.

I made it back to the hotel at twilight, the horizon streaked with lavender and gold. “How was your day,” the family asked. I just smiled and told them, “it was nice.”

If tried to explain I would just bore them, like telling someone about a long, fascinating dream you had. Just because it was real to you, it doesn’t mean others will feel the same way. I can’t begin to explain the most beautiful moments of my life—and maybe that’s what makes them that way. My day with the island was a secret I wanted to keep to myself.

Although…I guess you know about it now.