Starting ‘Ukulele with Mele

For most of my life, music has been my first language—but not always in the way I experience it now.

I was classically trained as a pianist and identified that way for years. It was structured, disciplined, and a huge part of who I was.

When I was 22, my Hawaiian grandmother, Vicki, gave me my very first ʻukulele. I didn’t think much of it at the time—but something about it felt immediate… like home.

Throughout my twenties, I kept coming back to it. I tinkered. I wrote a few songs. It felt natural and grounding in a completely different way than piano ever had. But still, I couldn’t quite let go of the identity I had built—I was a pianist.

At 28, I received my blessed Hawaiian name, Melelani—“heavenly music” or “heavenly song.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand how much I would grow into it.

Then at 29, everything shifted.

My grandmother played the ʻukulele for me on her deathbed.
I didn’t even know she played.

That moment stayed with me in a way I can’t fully explain. It connected something—between her, the instrument, and me—that I’m still uncovering.

In my thirties, the ʻukulele quietly became part of my teaching. I worked with adult immigrants, and each May we would bring out the ʻukuleles and make music together. It was joyful, accessible, and communal—but I still didn’t see it as thepath.

That didn’t happen until much later.

In January 2025, I began teaching ʻukulele classes on a Holland America world cruise. It was the beginning of ʻUkulele with Mele—though I didn’t fully realize it yet.

Then, on my final contract aboard the Oceania Vista, something unexpected happened.

I wasn’t even supposed to be teaching ʻukulele.

But I ran into a former student from that very first class—Lois. She came up to me and said, “You’re my ʻukulele teacher! Because of you, I kept going—and look where I am now.”

One year later… she was still playing.

The joy I felt in that moment—it hit differently. It wasn’t about a class. It wasn’t about a contract. It was about impact. About something continuing long after I had left.

So I did something I wasn’t supposed to do.

I started teaching again. Quietly. Off-contract.
About nine students showed up.

And then it kept going—even after I left.

That’s when it became clear.

What I thought was just a side thing… a fun addition… had already become something much bigger.

And last month, I finally said it to myself:

ʻUkulele with Mele isn’t something I do.
It’s something I am.

Since then, I’ve shifted my life to reflect that truth.

Now, I teach regularly on cruise ships, preparing students for our end-of-voyage cultural recital—our hōʻike. I stay connected with many of them through email, Instagram, and Facebook. Some continue playing together. Some step into leadership roles as liaisons to keep the classes going onboard.

Without trying to build it this way, a global ʻohana has formed.

As a performer, I’ve also come to see how untouched the ʻukulele had been in my life until now—and how naturally it fits. It’s opened something that feels both deeply personal and meant to be shared.

This blog is part of that.

A place to share what I’m learning, where I’m traveling, the music we’re playing, and the cultural connections I continue to discover along the way.

If you’d like to keep learning with us, you can join our growing community on Skool or sign up for my mailing list, where I share free videos and chord charts each month.

And if you’re curious about some of the places, shops, and pieces of culture I’ve come to love through my travels, take a look at the Aloha section of my website—it’s a collection of recommendations I’ve gathered along the way.

This is just the beginning.