Samantha Chun

Samantha “Sammy” Ayako Chun was born on October 31, 2007—Halloween. Her dad had always loved the name Samantha, so naming her came easy. Her middle name, Ayako, was given in honor of her great-great-grandmother.

Sammy arrived four weeks early, catching us by surprise. After she was born, we had to quickly prepare her room in our Mililani apartment. Since we hadn’t known if we were having a boy or a girl, her nursery was a peaceful, ocean-themed greenish blue.

From the start, Sammy was fun and adventurous. We encouraged her to try different activities, hoping one would stick—but she loved them all: soccer, gymnastics, jazz dance, hula, piano, roller hockey. She also loved to read and spent hours playing with her three cousins—Maddie, Lily, and Isaiah—later dubbed “the first four” as more cousins joined the family. She was always in motion—jumping on the trampoline, hiking, or heading to the beach.

Sammy was accepted into Kamehameha Schools starting in kindergarten, a blessing we’ll always be grateful for. In elementary school, she played tetherball, had “bus buddies” over after school, joined Zumba Club, and became part of the jump rope team.

She also trained in Jiu jitsu at UFC Gym and explored acting through PACK in Kapolei.

During COVID, Sammy discovered a new creative outlet—art. She spent hours painting and drawing, losing herself in color and expression.

She began high school at Mililani High, then transferred to Hawaii Technology Academy (HTA) in Waipahu. She was on track to graduate early in December 2025, needing only two more classes in her final semester.

Sammy had recently gotten her driver’s license and embraced her independence. She helped take her younger siblings to school in the morning and loved the freedom to drive herself to school, hockey practice at Ice Palace, roller hockey games at Hawaii Inline Hockey Inc. in Mililani, work, the store, or her friends’ houses.

She dreamed of working and traveling. Sammy held two jobs—at McDonald’s and Five Guys—and often spent her hard-earned money on gifts for her siblings and friends. She explored all kinds of future plans: working at a snowboard resort, possibly joining the military, airline pilot or starting a career in real estate.

Her favorite activity was snowboarding. She would race down the slopes, music blasting in her ears, her hair flying, covered in snow. She loved weaving through the trees, soaking in the thrill. Another favorite, she often said, was hunting—even though she’d only gone once with her uncles. She always said she wanted to go again.

Sammy was a truly amazing big sister. Her little brother, Moki, and sister, Nella, adored her. She planned adventures for them, took them on outings, bought them treats, and baked goodies for them at home. She was nurturing, silly, and present in every way. Nella asked for Sammy every night to tuck her in. Sometimes, we’d find Sammy curled up in their room, fast asleep beside her younger siblings—keeping them company, making them feel safe. Whenever Nella was upset, it was Sammy she would ask for. Her big sister was her comfort, her protector, and her calm in the storm.

Music was always playing in Sammy’s room. She loved all kinds—there was never silence when she was around. Her favorite place was Yosemite. She loved waterfalls and stargazing, and had a deep appreciation for the beauty of nature.

Sammy was lucky to travel with her uncles and aunties, especially during the years when her younger siblings were too small to go. She backpacked with her Tutu through Yosemite, the Big Island, and even Iceland—where she said, “This is what I imagine heaven looks like.”

She had the chance to travel the world—cruising through the Caribbean, the Panama Canal, Alaska, Mexico, and Europe—thanks to the generosity of her Chun grandparents, uncles and aunties, her Bachan, and her parents.

She grew up around the roller hockey community in Hawaii. As a little girl, she’d run around the rink in her nightgown or a dress, snacks in hand, watching her parents, aunties, and uncles play. Eventually, she strapped on skates herself—sometimes still in her dress—and began playing too. From trailing the big kids at practice to holding her own in tournaments, she was always a joy to watch.

She had a gift for bringing people together—people who might not have known each other otherwise. With her big laugh and radiant smile, she made others feel welcome, seen, and special. She was hilarious, kind, and up for a good time.

The Night Sammy Went Missing

On the night Sammy disappeared, she and her friend Joey went to Ke Iki Beach after her shift at Five Guys. The last known video on her phone is timestamped 11:14 p.m. It shows the two of them sitting by a bonfire, laughing, gazing at the stars and the moon—seemingly happy and at peace.

When they didn’t return the next morning, Joey’s mom went to look for them. She found their belongings untouched on the beach: crocs, phones, clothing, a bag, wallets, and a blanket. There were no swimsuits or towels. It was cold and dark that night—no one believes they planned to swim.

A massive four-day ocean search began. That night, surf reports documented waves as high as 40 feet. If they had no intention of entering the water, they likely wouldn’t have known about the surf—and in the darkness, they wouldn’t have seen how massive and dangerous the waves really were. The next day, a small portion of human remains was found offshore—unrecognizable but later confirmed to be Joey’s. Sammy’s body was never recovered."

There were some suspicious circumstances surrounding the case. Police eventually opened a missing persons investigation for Sammy, exploring multiple leads and scenarios.

In the days and weeks that followed, family, friends, and co-workers searched tirelessly. We walked the beaches, knocked on doors, collected surveillance footage, posted signs, offered rewards. The entire community—family, friends, the roller hockey world, businesses, schools, churches, and neighbors—rallied around us in extraordinary ways.

We followed every lead we could. We worked with private investigators and tech experts. Sammy was added to all major national missing persons databases and flagged with TSA, human trafficking watchlists, and internet-based facial recognition systems. We reached out to social media platforms, filed reports with CrimeStoppers, and shared her case through the Ring camera network. We also reached out to the news media, doing everything we could to keep her story in the public eye and widen the search.

We talked to psychic mediums, Hawaiian spiritual guides, and anyone with dreams, hunches, or insights. Many believe Sammy’s body may have been pulled into an underwater cave or crevice—a known part of the terrain in that area.

The most likely scenario is that a rogue wave swept them in—maybe while they were walking near the water, admiring the stars. Waves at that beach are known to come up suddenly and without warning—strong enough to knock people down and pull them into the ocean.

One might have tried to save the other. Ke Iki is treacherous even by day. Multiple psychics—unconnected to one another—have shared the same belief: that both teens drowned that night.

Sammy’s Legacy

Sammy was deeply, fiercely loved.

Her dad adored her. They were so much alike. He coached her roller hockey team her whole life, and even coached her in soccer when she was little—researching from YouTube and the Internet just so he could be there for her. They were silly together—singing, laughing, coming up with the same jokes or ideas or phrases at the same time. She’d loudly protest, pretending to be annoyed, but deep down, we all knew she secretly liked it. He taught her to snowboard, skate, ride a bike, and drive. He always told her he loved her, and she would kiss him on the cheek daily. Despite the inevitable conflicts that arise between a dad and a teenager, they always found a way to talk through their differences and work things out. Their bond was playful, heartfelt, and unforgettable.

Sammy and her mom shared a deep connection too. They played hockey together, and her mom loved watching her shine on the rink—always laughing and smiling and joking with teammates and friends. Sammy "posted" a letter from her mom in her journal and wrote how she has "amazing parents." Her mom cherished the way Sammy nurtured her siblings and cousins and was always baking something sweet to share. Sammy’s room was always filled with music and the soft scent of a candle, even if it was most often covered with a layer of belongings on the floor.

Some of the most tender memories are of the evenings when Sammy would come home and find us sitting quietly together, sharing a drink or dessert. She’d usually sigh loudly—or jokingly act grossed out before plopping down beside us. She would worriedly say, “I’ll never find a relationship like that.” We always told her, “Don’t worry and wait for the right person.” She’d often climb into bed when we were trying to sleep, starting conversations about all kinds of things. Or her dad would ask her to tuck us in and say goodnight, knowing she’d be up late—supposed to be doing homework, but most likely also listening to music or talking to her friends.

Her younger siblings love her deeply. Sammy always made her sister Nella feel safe, planned games and baking days, and filled the house with warmth. Her little brother loved her too—and she loved teasing him in the best way, yelling “I love you!” embarrassingly loud from the car. She cheered him on at school events. She would take them out to eat, or out to the store to buy them treats or snacks. Her love was loud, joyful, and impossible to miss.

Sammy had a way of thinking beyond herself. She has said more than once that she wanted to be “the fun Aunt with all the stories,” someone unforgettable. She planned to write down her adventures for her siblings and future kids—and even recorded videos for them, offering advice from her teenage self. That’s the kind of soul she was—funny, reflective, thoughtful, and full of love for people she hadn’t even met yet.

We will never stop searching for Sammy—in case she’s still out there.

And if she’s gone, we believe she’s in a better place: at peace, happy, surrounded by those she loved who went before her. We believe she is also here—with us, in us, and along for each adventure and special moment in our lives and her siblings’ lives.

Sammy had an unusual, almost fearless view of death.

She talked about it with a kind of acceptance that felt beyond her years. She has said she’d rather die doing something she loved than grow old, get sick, and slowly fade away. She also thought she was invincible and couldn’t die at times, but that if she was gone she wouldn’t want people to be sad about it. It wasn’t morbid—it was just her way of seeing the world. She believed life was meant to be lived fully, boldly, and on her own terms. That perspective didn’t come from a dark place—it came from her deep love of adventure, freedom, and being fully present in every moment.

In those final days, she was surrounded by love, laughter, freedom, and joy. She was happy—full of plans, dreams for the future, and a deep desire to grow into the best version of herself. She often spoke about wanting to be the best mother, the best friend, the best wife, the best aunt. Her goal was to surround herself with good people and to be a good person in return. She wrote about being there for her family, and about showing up for the things that truly mattered in life.

Now, we see her everywhere:

In the red cardinals singing in the trees. In whales breaching in the sea. In turtles gliding by. In butterflies fluttering past. In rainbows arching over the sky In dolphins leaping and singing to each other. In dragonflies. In hummingbirds. In heart shaped coral In songs, in dreams, in blooming flowers. In waterfalls, in waves, in quiet streams. In shooting stars, the full moon, and distant planets. In baked goods and fancy plates of food. In candles, music boxes, Golden Oreos, souvenir spoons, Hot Wheels cars, record players, shoes, artwork, Reeses candy and parks. In snow-covered mountains and trees. In cute little stores, trinkets, mushrooms, hedgehogs, and lighthouses. In the color purple. In photos that suddenly appear. In the number 11 and other “angel numbers.” In her family and friends, In every message, memory, and moment shared by those who love and remember her.

Sammy will always be remembered and loved Always. Forever. Wherever.