January 7th began like any other Tuesday. Our 90 storage, tucked conveniently beneath our home, made mornings seamless. My husband would prepare the items, and I’d pack them in a room filled with everything 90-related—our little creative hub. Typically, one of us would head up to Palisades Village to drop off packages at USPS or UPS. That day was no different.
My husband left around 10:30, rushing because I had signed up for a new gym just around the corner, with my class scheduled for 1 p.m. But not long after, he returned, alarmed. There was a fire somewhere near our hiking trail. Stepping onto our patio, we saw firefighting planes loading water from the ocean. Fires weren’t new to us—just weeks ago, we’d faced evacuation warnings from the Malibu fires. Still, this one felt closer.
I canceled my gym class, more worried about the cancellation penalty than the fire itself. My husband went up the hill to assess the situation. When he returned, he said the air was thick with smoke, and it might soon reach us. We decided to leave for an Airbnb in Venice to escape the worsening conditions.
We packed lightly, thinking it was just for one night. I loaded the dishwasher, he switched the laundry, and we secured the outdoor cushions. At the last moment, I grabbed our passports—it was instinctive, a reminder of how much those documents meant to us after becoming citizens just two years ago.
The drive to Venice was uneventful. The smoky sky cleared as we left, and traffic was light. We thought we’d be back by morning. But everything changed when we settled in and turned on the news.
One of our neighbor had decided to stay behind. He couldn’t afford to leave—insurance companies had dropped them after last year’s fires. At 2:40 p.m., we got updates. By 4:30, texts from our neighbors confirmed the fire had reached our street— a place we thought was untouchable, sitting as it did right by the beach. By 6 p.m., we knew. Our home was on fire.
We clung to hope, imagining maybe just part of it was damaged and firefighters would save the rest. But as dawn broke, the evidence was clear. Everything was gone. The garage gate stood alone amidst a landscape of ash.
The shock was unbearable. It felt like watching an apocalyptic movie — except it was our reality. Questions swirled: Why didn’t I take this or that? The vision of flames consuming my beloved posters, Chris Cornell photos, diaries, family heirlooms from Poland — it was overwhelming. It wasn’t just expensive things; it was priceless memories.
Our stock of 90 t-shirts, the dream we had worked so hard to rebuild—it was gone too.
Friends and family reached out, trying to offer comfort, but there was nothing anyone could say. Yet, amidst the despair, one thought emerged: I needed something—anything — to hold onto. I began sharing updates about our evacuation on Instagram. Messages of kindness and support poured in.
We made a decision: we wouldn’t accept financial help or set up a GoFundMe. Instead, we resolved to rebuild 90. Through tears, we reset our inventory to zero and shared our story. We told our followers we would take orders and fulfill them once we could reorder stock. As a symbolic way to support, we designed a postcard.
What happened next was nothing short of magical. Hundreds of messages filled my inbox — words of encouragement, hope, and solidarity. Each one lifted my spirit, and responding to them gave me a purpose.
We mourned for two days. We cried for what we had lost, but then we chose to move forward. Almost a decade ago, we started over in the U.S. Now, we would do it again. We refused to let this tragedy define us.
The overwhelming support from everyone — friends, family, followers — helped us stand back up. Today, just 10 days later, I’m writing from our new place. Our 90 t-shirts are already in production. Our home is partially furnished, and my heart is full of gratitude.
I’ve come to realize that while we lost things, we gained something far greater. I discovered how many incredible people are in my life — people who genuinely care. I had been so consumed by work and chasing dreams that I hadn’t noticed the connections I’d built.
So, as we begin this new chapter, I want to focus on those connections—with you. You lifted me up when I couldn’t do it alone. You helped me find the strength to move forward, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
Together, we’re rebuilding something beautiful. Thank you for being here. ❤️