Wahiawa

Let me tell you a story

Am I the only one who takes memory snapshots? No? Just me, Weirdy?

When I was growing up, I knew time was moving and that the moment was quickly passing. I was weirdly aware of it for some reason. And the only way to keep it was to take a memory snapshot. I’d pause, take it all in, my eyes scanning the room or place, or moment and uploading every detail to my brain like some kind of personal memory library. Every sound, the weather, the smell, the color of my 90’s vibrant Gecko shorts, all locked in. Just in case I needed to find my way back later.

This project is dedicated to the nostalgic snapshots of Wahiawā—the town I grew up in. That huge hero image is a view that I and so many others, saw every single day. Familiar, constant, quietly beautiful. A view I never took for granted. These are my memory snapshots. Not of big events, but of places that were simply there.

Some are still standing.

Some have faded. Some are gone.

But they all live here now.

It’s 4 a.m. and I’m on the road, driving my mom to work. The world is silent, dark, but somehow comforting. A Hawaiian owl—rare, quiet, almost mythical—glides over my car, almost always at the same time, in the same spot. Every time, a calm washes over me. Like a quiet promise that the road home is watched over, and I’ll get there safe.

  • The Manapua Man

    The Manapua Man rolled up in his van, windows open, engine humming, packed with steamed buns, fried noodles, and cold drinks. You’d hear him before you saw him, and kids would sprint out of their houses with crumpled dollar bills in hand. He remembered your favorite order, handed it over with a nod. Just solid, familiar comfort. The kind that sticks with you way past childhood.

  • Whitmore Home

    Whitmore Home

    This is the house I grew up in—me, two brothers, grandma, mom, and uncle, all crammed into a tiny two-bedroom, one-bath. It sat tucked behind another home, hidden from the street. So this view? It’s imagined. But the house—it’s real. Looking at this floods my brain with memory snapshots I haven’t even drawn yet. The sounds, grandmas and mom’s cooking, the loud afternoon show of Wheel of Fortune, all still there locked in this drawing.

  • Whitmore Gym

    Whitmore Gym. We stayed out until sunset while our uncles played basketball. We rode bikes that were too big, got hurt, chased balls into the street, almost got hit by cars, but kept doing it every day.

Spamurai #spam
I finally did it. I created Oompa Lumpia 🤭
I remember looking out through the decorative bricks from the inside waiting for my mom to be done with whatever she did at the bank.
Like a dream I barely remember - Whitmore Park
Like a memory coming back to visit but I can visit the memory too.
Kam and Cali, memory remains.
Wahiawa’s old Blockbuster—where the carpets held the scent of Fridays. Buzzing lights, aisles of stories. We wandered, we chose, we dreamed in rewind.
Wahiawa General Hospital is being torn down. My brother was born there. I waited in those chairs, head split from a golf club, shoulder out from volleyball. Quiet hours, bright lights, our small histories.
The Wahiawā Library smells like old paper and pencil shavings. Quiet, warm, unchanged—a place that raised generations. I remember riding my bike to get my Obake files book signed by Glen Grant here.
Kilani Bakery’s brownies are dense, rich, and slightly underbaked at the center—wrapped in wax paper, still warm. The smell hits before the taste: dark chocolate, sugar crust, and something deeply nostalgic that seeps into your clothes an
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