He Used to Live in Lahaina
I’m not going to write his name.
Not because he wasn’t important.
But because I don’t want strangers showing up
at his family’s door with cameras.
Still, I want to write about him.
Because if nobody does,
the world will only remember one sentence:
The Maui wildfire of 2023.
102 people died.
And inside that number,
there was someone
I knew.
He was an ordinary person
He wasn’t someone you’d see on the news.
He didn’t have money.
He didn’t have followers.
He didn’t have some big title.
He just lived in Lahaina.
Sometimes he walked along the ocean.
Sometimes he bought shaved ice
on Front Street.
Sometimes he stood near the harbor
watching tourists get on boats.
People come to Maui,
take photos,
and leave.
But people like him
are the ones who actually live there.
Lahaina used to be quiet
It was an old town by the sea.
Wooden buildings.
Palm trees.
Salt in the air.
A lot of families had lived there
for generations.
The streets were small.
People knew each other.
Someone sold fish on the corner.
Someone ran a coffee shop.
Someone owned a restaurant
that had been there for decades.
It wasn’t just a “tourist spot.”
It was life.
The day the fire came
It was August 8, 2023.
The wind was strong that day.
Later people said
the winds were connected to
Hurricane Dora,
far out in the Pacific.
Those winds came down the mountains
and pushed the fire faster.
People said the fire didn’t crawl.
It ran.
The town disappeared quickly
Later we all saw the aerial footage.
Whole streets turned black.
Many houses were gone.
Just foundations left.
Some people never had time to leave.
Cars were trapped on the road.
Some people ran toward the ocean.
Some jumped into the water
and stayed there for hours
to escape the smoke and flames.
Later they said: 102
After the fire,
the numbers started appearing.
102 dead.
They said it was the deadliest wildfire
in the United States
in more than a century.
People began asking questions.
Why didn’t the warning sirens sound?
Why didn’t many residents receive evacuation alerts?
Why did the fire spread so fast?
Those questions matter.
But I keep thinking about something else.
Inside that number
Inside the number 102
there was someone
who used to walk those streets.
Someone who saw the same ocean every day.
Someone who greeted neighbors.
Someone who lived
a normal day
just like anyone else.
He wasn’t a statistic.
He was a person.
Why I’m writing this
Because the world
is very good at remembering famous people.
But the world is actually built
by ordinary ones.
A neighbor.
A friend.
Someone you see
every day on the corner.
If nobody remembers them,
it’s almost as if
they were never here.
Don’t Leave Without a Trace
That’s why I’m writing about him.
Not to make people sad.
Just to remind them:
Ordinary lives
deserve to leave a trace.
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