Palisadian Arden Seretean Shares a First-Hand Account of the Palisades Fire and Debris Removal at Her Home
By ARDEN SERETEAN | Intern
My name is Arden Seretean, and Pacific Palisades has been my home my entire life. It’s where I walk my dogs every evening, take dance classes, perform for the community, make documentaries, write poetry, participate in the Fourth of July parade and watch the fireworks from Pali High’s field.
The Palisades holds a special place in my heart, and losing parts of it to the fires has only strengthened my commitment to telling its story. Having documented this place my whole life, I felt an even stronger desire to create a documentary for the Palisadian-Post during my time as an intern.
Below is a first-hand account of the Palisades fire, from January 7 through the start of June, as well as a poem.
01/07/25
The day we were told to evacuate.
We saw the fire growing on the other side of the hill. A news team asked if they could film the fires from our deck. We even locked our doors, thinking we might return.
Alarms blared. Traffic was so jammed that people had to abandon their cars on Pacific Coast Highway, taking only what they could carry.
01/09/25
Photos from two days after the fire.
No residents were allowed to approach their homes. Most streets were closed off, and from anywhere you stood, you could see smoke billowing from the fires. The wind pushed the flames several football fields per second.
I remember frantically watching the news, desperately hoping our house had survived. An article showed a fire burning inside someone’s house, and for a moment, I thought it was mine. It was around 2 a.m., and I completely broke down, panicked, thinking it could be our house.
Here are photos of our home then, taken by someone who was able to get access up there.
01/11/25
Trying to get closure.

We waited in a line for 10 hours where cars filled the streets for many blocks—everyone desperately wanting to see if their house had survived. Only two cars were allowed up every hour.
After waiting, the National Guard let us see our house for a maximum of 10 minutes, as I was seeking some closure before returning to college. I couldn’t recognize anything; nothing looked like our home, and I was in denial for many months after.
05/30/25
Pacific Palisades.
Our drive to our house that day showed the damage in Pacific Palisades. Our neighborhood was completely gone.
05/30/25
Debris removal at our house.
Our mom let the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers handle it, but we stayed during the process in case we saw anything that had survived and could be salvaged. We wore masks, boots, suits—everything. We couldn’t save anything because the floors had collapsed on top of each other, making anything inaccessible.
05/31/25
Day two of the debris removal by the Army Corps.
The team worked quickly and efficiently. By the end of day two, noticeable progress had been made. We had very little time to look through the debris for anything we could save, while they took their lunch break.
05/31/25
Our neighbor’s house to the right.
I documented my neighbor’s home; they lived to the right of us. They saw their house on fire through their security cameras. They did not use the Army Corps for debris cleanup. Nothing was recognizable—just gone.
05/31/25
Debris removal is complete.
Here’s when the Army Corps completed our debris removal. Unfortunately, in the process, there was nothing for us to save. It took them just a few days to fully clear out our house. It was unfamiliar and devastating seeing our home this way. Everything was completely gone.
06/01/25
Ready for approval.
Our house was cleaned up and cleared out. The debris removal was finished, and they prepared the property for inspection and fenced everything off to mark the completion of their work. Here’s our house in its entirety.
“My Thoughts Undress the Silence”
I will never wake up to you again,
my heart murmurs,
as my eyes remember the sun’s warm fingertips resting on your cheek of glass.
I wonder if you’d still recognize me as I stand over your body—splintered into the things I loved most
strings from a burned piano,
photographs collapsing from lack of air,
letters torn from their origins—
all spilling into the bed of a truck.
I miss your moon-colored skin
how you stood like a soldier
once a mother shielding me
from the heavy blankets of night
Now you lie cold, shaking
I try to cradle you,
gathering your shattered bones,
cupping them in my hands like how you used to hold me
My heart soaks my chest as I cry a little too
I don’t know how to deal with this pain as I write about loss to erase the feeling
Losing you left a dent in me
while the smaller things tug at me like an impatient child
Your smile that greeted me at the door
the letters you kept safe inside your ribs,
the shelter of your spine.
Since losing you,
I’ve been in constant motion—sliding from cousin’s house to grocery store, pet store to gas station—never really landing
I’ve become weightless
A kind of floating that feels like falling
I never thought you could burn, with
shoulders so strong they mocked the heaviness of rain,
arms so warm they held me as if I were fragile.
You were not meant to be a sandcastle for the tides
Not meant to melt away
But the fire found your spine
Bathed in your lungs
Consumed your skin
Until all that was left was sand.
My thoughts undress the silence