Blog #42: Wildfire Diaries
Preface
It pains me to share these words with you — I wish I could say it was all a bad dream. But the reality is that the LA wildfires have caused unprecedented damage to our city, and are still not 100% extinguished, even a week later.
Whenever I‘m hurting, I turn to writing. I share this daily diary as my way of processing an immense tragedy. Many people of LA have been traumatized by the recent events. Our work now is to heal, rebuild, repair. Bit by bit, every day.
Let’s be clear about something at the top: this is not a “natural” disaster. This is a human-caused climate disaster. We are living in the climate crisis era. The intensity of these wildfires are a direct result of compounding extreme weather events, created by pollution from burning oil, gas and coal. Our land is devastatingly dry. Couple that with defunding the LA Fire Department by millions, and you can understand how an event like this was long in the making.
If you feel called to support victims of the wildfires, please refer to the resources listed in this article. And if you’d like to join the land restoration efforts (once it’s safe to return to specific areas), please stay tuned for updates. Thank you for your support, in any capacity. I love you, LA <3
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1/7/25
The winds are blowing so insanely hard right now. Some Interstellar Dust Bowl type shit. The vines affixed to my patio are hanging on for dear life. The glass door is flexing so hard I fear it could crack and shatter. The power keeps going in and out, the WiFi keeps crashing. Maybe this is a sign to go analog today. I have the privilege of an entire day and night to be with myself while Matthew’s on a shoot. I want to take advantage of this moment and create something special, start something new.
1/8/25
So much developed so quickly overnight. We are quite literally in the ring of fire. In every direction I turn, hurricane-level winds have fueled massive fires, devastating communities. I am beyond grateful that our home in Valley Village is safe. We still have water and power. Meanwhile, the world outside is apocalyptic. I fear for all my loved ones who are threatened by these unprecedented fires. I grieve for all the families who have lost everything, and for the beautiful land that has been reduced to ash. The images and videos I’ve seen make it look like a nuke was dropped on LA. This is not normal. I repeat: THIS. IS. NOT. NORMAL.
I have to go with Matthew now, to pick up his aunt (Ate Rosie) who must evacuate her senior home in Santa Monica. I’m relieved to offer her refuge, while fearing the additional responsibility that rests on our shoulders. I’ve never felt more like an “adult” in my life. I have to get my shit together, and quickly.
1/9/25
Today I am numb. The devastation is insurmountable. I am beyond blessed to have woken up in my own home — many of my fellow Angelenos cannot say the same. The air quality is shit, but at least the fires adjacent to our neighborhood have gotten under control. I’m balancing a lot of emotions right now.
Last night, we were prepared to evacuate. I packed my essentials and anything that held sentimental value. It was an awful activity. Looking at all my belongings, thinking: “What would I be most devastated to lose in a fire?” and furiously grabbing all of those things. I am not a light packer, and this was no different. I thank all the powers that be for allowing us to live another day. My home continues to be a safe place, at least for now.
1/10/25
The Palisades fire has reached Encino, less than 10 miles west of us. I never saw this coming because we’re so damn far from the Palisades!? Alas, we can see the fire from our window. That daunting deep orange cloud, the slow burning march of death. This looks like hell on Earth. I have never felt more scared in my life. My heart is beating so fast. It’s insane how quickly everything can change. Our bags are packed. Our car is full of gas. We have a sound evacuation plan. I pray and pray that we won’t have to use it. I don’t want to leave our home with the thought that we may not return. But I can barely stand the stress of staying. Maybe we need to preemptively evacuate, just so we can sleep tonight.
1/11/25
As expected, I could barely sleep last night. Although the winds were blowing away from us and the containment efforts were effective, I kept waking up to check the fire progress on my phone and outside my window. How can I sleep when it’s visible from my home? Regretfully, I bumped something in the darkness and may have woken up Ate Rosie. I don’t want to worry her more than she already is. Eventually I quieted my anxieties enough to climb back into bed with Matthew. In his barely conscious state, he held me close and ran his fingers across my back. The lyrics of “luther” flooded my mind and lulled me to sleep:
“In this world, concrete flowers grow
Heartache, she only doin' what she know
Weekends, get it poppin' on the low
Better days comin' for sure”
1/12/25
Yesterday we had a heartfelt goodbye with Ate Rosie. Matthew’s aunt in Paso Robles was eager to take her to safer grounds, so we met each other halfway. I feel relieved to know that she’ll have an entire room to herself on a spacious ranch with great air quality. She told me that she’ll miss my cooking the most, along with Matthew’s talent for boiling water haha. I’ll miss her positive energy. Ate Rosie is a pure light; I pray she will have a safe home to return to, after the ash settles.
Matthew and I returned to Valley Village with a deep sense of relief that we were not forced to evacuate. I can’t express enough gratitude for the firefighters — we owe our lives to them. As we sat on the living room floor, looking at our mounting pile of essentials & irreplaceables, I decided to take a deep dive. Within minutes, my precious memories covered the whole floor:
a 6th grade report card containing all A’s,
young photos of my mother & father when they were in love,
baby pics,
birthday cards, and
many many journals.
I sat there enthralled, flipping through pages of my life from the young age of 7 and onward... I’m so impressed by young Maya, so descriptive and so honest in her writing. After a while, I had the sense that Matthew was getting a little bored so I suggested we play a game of mancala. Something I had left behind in the upstairs closet.
In my pursuit of the mancala board, I found yet another journal that was hiding away in a bin. It was from an 8th grade English class. I stopped in my tracks and flipped through with eagerness -- is this something I would’ve regretted to lose in a fire?
The answer was a resounding yes. I found my “magnum opus” of the class, adorned with my teacher’s post-it note reading: “you brought tears to my eyes.” It was an essay recalling the experience of losing my grandfather at the age of 11. Revisiting the essay brought tears to my own eyes. I couldn’t tear myself from the pages. I continued flipping through to the end and discovered something unexpected folded in there… a parent evaluation.
I recognized Ma’s handwriting the moment I saw it. Before me was an entire page of praise. Not just words of affirmation, words of ADMIRATION:
“Maya’s writing is extremely descriptive. She’s an amazing writer. Her stories are captivating, thoughtful, and expressive…
I would like to see her develop her talent. She’s an amazing storyteller. It would be great to see her write longer pieces that inspire her.”
My God, what a breath of fresh air it was to read these words. How affirming it was to remember my mom’s unconditional support of my journey as a writer, a gift that I inherited from her. In a time of great uncertainty, when I can barely think about a week from today, I was given the powerful reminder of my memoir. My 2025 goal is to complete the first draft of the manuscript. I trust that I will live to see that day, and even dedicate a chapter to this moment in my life.
The fires may persist, but so will I. Every day I live is another day to heal myself so I can help to heal my community and the land. This is my life’s work. I will continue to write through it all.
