Hilo, Day 1 & 2: Pizza, Ube & A Funeral

In Hawaiian, Hilo means to twist, braid, or spin. Like a spider gliding as it builds its web, hilo is threadlike, pouring with rain most days with faint streaks of light peaking through. The rain drops are heavy, falling in quarter-sized droplets on our windshield as we wind through the quiet town after our 12-hour journey, airport to airport. 

Once inside our room, the rain fell like a million pebbles scrambling against the aluminum roof, waxing and waning as the night wore on. The streetlights in the neighborhood are minimal, golden lights shimmering as those heavy drops vibrate against puddles creating miniature ocean waves.

Locals call this sound kanilehua, roughly translating to “the rain that makes lehua flowers rustle.” The lehua flower grows all over Hawaii, but the interesting thing about that fluorescent pink, spiky pom-pom of a flower is its ability to grow in volcanic ash. Between the cracks of Kilauea, lehua flowers bring life to the black, barren areas, sprinkled around the volcano's aftermath like silent warriors.

The quiet paths throughout Kilauea Iki (little Kilauea) feel like forbidden, abandoned warzones. While flowers bloom through the wreckage, the destruction from Kilauea's eruption is immeasurable and impossible to forget. The ground doesn't have to be called sacred, as it already emanates that sort of vibe throughout the area. When hiking, there are usually stakes stabbed into the ground to mark the paths that are safe to travel, but here, there are stacks of rocks to show the way. 

The Hawaiians don't operate on false hope, believing that everything on their island is temporary - assuming that destruction isn't a matter of "if," but "when." These small stacks of rocks hold that symbolism, being stacked atop the dusty plain rather than driving a stake into what could potentially anger the beautiful yet terrifying goddess Pele. In Hawaii, they say that she is the volcano goddess, but also a creator and destroyer of lands based on her current emotional state. 

To harm Pele's home is to harm her. To take from Pele, is to steal parts of herself that she can't live without. To drive a stake into Kilauea Iki is not only dangerous, but sacrilegious and deeply disrespectful to a goddess that can make waves of lava crash down on anyone who dares to rupture her source of being.

In a strange, spiritual way, the crater encapsulates the changes I had going on internally - with my grief, acceptance of self, and pondering what my life was going to hold in the next few years. My mother's death brought a wreckage in my heart that is unexplainable, yet it is fathomable for those who had a mother who loved them unconditionally.

This love being lost isn't a small feat - it travels with you day and night, aching in your chest during days where a person is expected to perform menial tasks and continue "living," as they say. 

At the time of this trip, I had just broken away from a toxic work environment and began my journey without that stress bleeding into our vacation. I don't want to talk ill of someone who gave me a job with an ankle monitor blinking during my interview, but I was deeply unappreciated, used until I could no longer produce, and pushed to my limits. I was "on call," working for a salary that barely covered my expenses. 

My labor was necessary for his business to function, but the financial compensation necessary enough to prioritize. In doing so, he incidentally caused a sort of personal discovery - that I did want to write. I was writing poetry, fiction, and articles for an independent news agency while working with him, and learned that I really did deserve more from my life - I just needed to graduate my DUI court program in order to get anywhere else in my life, which happened in January 2026. 

So right away, I locked down a job for February, and they were totally fine with my two week long journey to Hawaii knowing that I had waited over a year to go. So starting this journey on the big island with that settled, I felt free to finally grieve without any anxiety, worries, or pressure to perform anywhere at all. I was just living, experiencing, and settling into the vacation as the rain poured outside our little room rental. 

Hilo, as well as the rest of the Big Island, was recovering from the latest eruption of Kilauea the week we arrived, and were preparing for the next episode - the activity within the volcano was churning, building up to one of the biggest eruptions Kilauea has seen in decades, and the geologists were still studying to prepare the town for the ash and debris to come, while clearing the debris from the last event. 

The first two days are extremely uneventful, as we were settling in after long flights and we arrived in Hilo after 11pm. We were starved and tired, and hit up 7-11 thinking we'd just grab some chips and soda. Boy, were we in for a surprise. Hawaii's 7-11 is on another level - carrying TONS of Japanese and Korean snacks that Reno just doesn't have. Mochi, baked goods, and above all else, UBE.

Ube cheesecake, ube shortbread, ube chips and drinks - endless options to choose from. Angel had never tried ube before this trip, but after picking up mochi, conchas and Hello Kitty themed drinks, we got some of that ube cheesecake to top it all off. 

Angel. Was. OBSESSED. This began a spree throughout our trip to find the best ube treats throughout the Big Island, and this was just the beginning. Reno's 7-11s are known to be crackhead infested with slot machines, expired snacks and ancient hot dogs roasting on rollers that haven't been cleaned in years. 

But in Hawaii, you have full on meals that are prepared daily it seems, since the spam musubi never looked like it was left out in the sun and tossed in a display case. That, as well as macadamia nuts EVERYWHERE, got us really excited. It was like we walked into an alternative universe where everything expensive in Reno became dirt cheap, and we devoured it all. 

Believe it or not, eating ube cheesecake and macadamia nut chocolate truffles in the middle of the night, with no stress or worries about plans, days, times, or really anything at all while the rain falls on the roof of your room, is an awesome way to spend a night in Hilo. We crawled into bed, stayed up for a few more hours to watch a movie on Netflix, then drifted to sleep. 

The next day was also a little slow, as we needed to go to Walmart and get basic necessities for the two weeks we'd be staying out in Hilo. But of course, we spent more than we needed to on macadamia nut treats, white chocolate macadamia nut coffee for the coffee pot, and many other Japanese and Korean snacks that we've never seen before. 

We popped over to a local pizza joint called Antics Pizza, and had no idea what we were in for. As you walk in, the left-hand side of the parlor is lined with computers, gaming chairs, and about 10 children cramming around them as they play Xbox games. Fortnite and Minecraft were on multiple screens, as the kids were cheering each other on, the windows covered in posters and art.

With no natural light, the place had a dungeon-like vibe, with small, wooden booths lining the right-hand side of the room. At each table were old-school gaming systems from the 80s, with two controllers and a singular game in the gaming console ready to play. 

There was a small backroom with more computers and picnic tables for parties, which we quickly backed out of since there was an active birthday party happening during our visit. We didn't mind though, since we got a massive pizza to finally scarf down some real food after eating small sandwiches and 7-11 snacks the day before. We played Mortal Kombat, of course, over and over until we were served. 

Antics Pizza - Hilo, HI

The FOOD - let me tell you, I have never had a pizza this good in my entire life. The dough was thin but fluffy, the ingredients fresh and mesmerizing, and the ranch was made in-house. All local, farm fresh, and made to order. It was heavenly, and exactly what we needed.

We stopped into a strip mall in Hilo, just to see what it was like before driving around the town before getting dinner and heading back for an early night's sleep. Being so exhausted, we tried our best to stay active, but the lack of sleep was wearing us down.

Angel suffers from insomnia, so by the time we got to Hawaii the day before, he hadn't slept for nearly two days. Myself, I hadn't had any sleep for over 24 hours since I was trying to clean our place up before we left after working until 6pm. Our flight left at 5 in the morning, so we were still in recovery mode. 

That aside, the MALL. It had a casual cotton candy machine, a Cinnabon that sold macadamia nut cinnamon rolls, a place called Zippys - a local favorite for it's diverse yet modern blend of Hawaiian, Japanese and American food, as well as a few small shops that sold food and art made by locals. 

On our way back, we noticed that a large group of people were hanging out at one of the beaches near our room, and the curiosity got the best of us. There were empty picnic tables with women and children packing up dishes, like we missed the main event and were arriving to an after party.

A live band played on a makeshift stage, playing reggae music completely in Hawaiian. No English slipped from anyone's mouths, only words we truly could not understand. We watched nearly 100 people dancing, crying, talking and drinking in an open, grassy area that had been cleaned up to create a dancefloor. 

We were really feeling ourselves, like we were suddenly part of a huge, Hawaiian family, but we had no idea what we were celebrating. No one looked at us like we didn't belong, but no one really talked to us either. It was strange, but comforting in a way since we knew that we were outsiders coming into a place that was completely unfamiliar.

We danced for a bit, watching children run around the legs of their parents and tried to google translate the lyrics to the songs - though it did not work as we hoped. 

After about 20 minutes, we saw it. To the left of the band was a huge portrait of a woman, framed with her name, two dates, and the phrase "In Loving Memory." 

We crashed a fucking funeral, and that's when it hit me - this is so ironic.

Ironic, because my mother didn't get to have a classic funeral, mainly because my family did not care to put it together. And when we did hold a service, no one came. 

Jan Renee Espeseth/Bessey, my beautiful mother.

A funeral, which we found out the very next day, was held for a sweet old woman that the entire town had mourned together - hence, the huge group of people. Of course, since it's Hilo, it was raining slightly, as if the heavens were mourning for this woman along with the rest of the city. 

This was the moment where everything hit me, all at once. But I didn't cry, nor was I falling apart. I felt seen while observing the grief, realizing that my mother didn't need an entire town to recognize her disappearance from the world. She just needed to be remembered. 

Right then, Angel and I burst into laughter when we realized exactly what we stumbled into. A party for the dead, a concert for the mourning, and a space for visitors to blend into the culture that exists without making them seem unwanted.

A place where we were accidentally immersed into Hawaiian customs, while also feeling the grief without the direct link to a specific person. A safe space to feel amongst people who were all experiencing that same sense of loss, finding a sliver of joy all the same. 

Indirectly, that random celebration of life began to heal something in me, proving that remembrance can be expressed in so many different ways.

As I was remembering my mother, every person on that grassy dancefloor shared something incredibly important: a space to let go of that aching pain for a small moment, here, on the beautiful beaches of Hawaii. We didn't need to exchange words or the same language to understand it - we just knew. 

That was the beauty of our second night in Hilo.