I hardly spent a Saturday sleeping in. Instead I observed the sun slowly say, ‘good morning,’ over Diamond Head. Its warmth crept in through the palms of banana trees and in the crevasses of our tropical brutalist skyline. Nestled in Helumoa, you’ll find a pink Spaniard-Moorish palace, the fortress of my childhood. I used to sneak away while my father would wait in the car for mom to clock off work. Quietly enter through the gardens where wedding photos would take place, and several times would be mistaken as a lost flower girl. While frantically pacing to the lanai overlooking Waikiki beach, the curtains would billow in the trade wind as the staff prepared for their evening luau. With each visit I’d sit and listen to tourists tell me tales of their lives.

Once I met a writer who just hopped off a plane from Biarritz, traveling around the globe trying to find the best local hideaways. She introduced herself as Carina, explained that she had recently separated from her husband and was on a quest. “I want to find all the various types of nirvana on earth”. All she knew were harsh winters and the pain that came with no sun.

HYPHN was created by virtue of my curiosity of strangers sharing stories. Placing myself in their shoes to explore a different point of view from my own. A thread to weave my life into theirs, opening the dialogue of truly discovering who someone is. I believe there is more than just the beginning and an end —

it’s the process between the two that paints the picture of who you are and what you choose to become.