I watched in horror as Maui burned to the ground. Now I'm leaving my dream home with survivor's guilt.
- I live on a sailboat in Maui, Hawaii, with my boyfriend and cat.
- We watched the Lahaina fire from the water while hot embers rained on us.
The serene waters of Lahaina had always been a sanctuary, especially from my sailboat gently bobbing on its waves. But on August 8, that peace was violently shattered. The scent of burning wood permeated the air, and the amber horizon painted a tale of looming catastrophe.
Early reports described a brush fire in West Maui gradually encroaching upon Lahaina. My heart raced with fear, momentarily soothed by news updates. By 9 a.m., the fire was under control — or so we were told.
But as the afternoon sun painted the skies, Lahaina's respite ended. The flames was rekindled with a vengeance. From my boat, the horrifying scene unfolded: dark smoke plumes and a sinister, fiery glow on the horizon.
My boat was untouched
Miraculously, amid the chaos, my sailboat — my home — remained untouched. While embers had rained down on us through the night, our sails never went up in flames. My boyfriend, cat, and I were safe, but that safety came with a burden: guilt.
In the aftermath, a torrent of questions consumed me. Why was I still breathing when so many had perished? What had I done to merit such mercy from a God I scarcely acknowledged? Could I have done more? My logical mind knows venturing into 60-knot gusts amid roaring fire would have been impossible. Still, the nagging whispers of "should've, could've, would've" haunt me.
By dawn, the extent of the devastation was palpable. Lahaina, a town steeped in history, was scarred beyond recognition. My boat remained afloat, a stark contrast to the ruins ashore. Every breath I took felt stolen, a rebuke to those who had lost so much. And the vast waters, once a source of solace, now mirrored the gulf between my unscathed world and the charred remains of the town.
I have nightmares of the fire
Sleep has become an elusive luxury. Nightmares grip me, pulling me into their fiery embrace, with echoes of screams and searing heat. I don't dream of my boat burning but of faces — familiar and unknown — trapped in the flames. Morning light does little to dispel the guilt, illuminating my unscathed surroundings against the backdrop of the town's ruin.
I grapple with my pain. Am I even entitled to grieve when so many have lost infinitely more? My every lament seems a mockery to those who have lost everything. I chastise myself for the luxury of my grief, all while nestled in my bed. I feel bereft, questioning my role, my responsibilities. As some rally to rebuild and help, I can muster only a few essays.
The smoke may have lifted, but the scars remain, both on the town and on my soul. The horizon poses a haunting question: What next? Physically, my boat remains intact, but its soul is marred by the tragedy. Every glimpse toward Lahaina becomes a piercing reminder of the devastation and my tangled emotions.
Yet the town, while deeply wounded, exudes hope and resilience. As I set forth on a journey to find healing and a new sanctuary, I carry with me the indomitable spirit of a community that, against all odds, is determined to rise anew.
We are moving
The heartbreak of leaving Lahaina is almost too much to bear. The gentle waves that once whispered peace, the very waters that my home rested upon, are now rife with memories of devastation. My departure feels like an abandonment, like I'm sailing away from my roots, from the very essence that molded me into the woman I am today.
While the logic of self-preservation argues that it's for the best, the sensitive chambers of my heart tighten with every nautical mile I put between me and the town. I think of the 'ohana I leave behind, their faces, their resilience. They face daily reminders of the tragedy, while I seek distance.
Leaving is both my salvation and my torment, a paradox I'll carry wherever the tide takes me.