Emotions, feelings, being free? Oh my!

This past weekend I hopped in the car with my sister Molly and drove up to the mountains to join my family for a little weekend excursion.

Normally when my family goes up to the mountains I stay at home because of work or yoga training… or at least, that’s what I tell myself. But to be quite perfectly honest, the real reason might be because there is still a small part of me that doesn’t want to miss out on anything. I don’t want to miss that extra dollar I could earn, that new yoga pose I could master, or some amazing adventure a friend just thought of. And though the New Year has been filled with so many amazing happenings it has also been filled with emotional turmoil. So I decided to take a break from “my reality” and escape into the mountains for a weekend off from everyone and everything.

I guess I should start off by saying that “emotional turmoil” might be a tad dramatic. But I have been dealing with a lot of emotions as of late and, well, I just needed a break from them, okay?

You see, this past year I have been trying to become more open about how I feel and not see emotions (other than happiness) as a weakness. And let me tell you, it’s a struggle. Lately I feel as though I have been a waterfall of emotions, telling everyone left and right how I feel. Which is good, coming from never telling anyone anything  (of substance) at all. But right now I am finding that I don’t know how to communicate what I am feeling correctly. For instance, in November, I told a guy I liked him and I think he thought I was joking because he later on hooked up with a another girl in front of me and then gave me that “booyah” best mates sort of look. So I think a break to collect my thoughts and weed through everything was much needed.

The entire weekend I only did three things: read Mindful Yoga Mindful Life, go on hikes with my mom, and watched some mindless television. It was perfect.

I especially loved the walks with my mom. We hiked up the old ski slopes and walked through (probably closed off) meadows. We talked about life, our opinions on world matters, and my future. It was nice to talk about these things while feeling like we were the only two people in the world. It made things… simpler.

By the end of the weekend my brain felt so much clearer, I came to terms with the fact that though I was that guys friend and that I was sexually attracted to him, it didn’t mean I necessarily liked him. Also, just because he doesn’t like me doesn’t mean he is a bad person. That last one is common sense, I know, but you cannot imagine how many people bad talk someone when they find out they don’t like you or a friend back.

Another thing I learned, which might be the most important of them all, is that I am tired of being alone. My entire life I have gone from group to group, county to county, always changing up the people I keep in my life besides a rare a few. Though it has given me amazing opportunities and adventures, it has also left me rather lonely. I mean, I am twenty-one and I think it’s about time I had a serious, committed relationship. But I need to stop looking for it where I know I can’t find it or with people I know will give it to me even if I don’t fully like them back. It’s very selfish of me and it’s time to grow out of that childish trait. So I will stop looking and just stay in my hometown and be with the people who have stayed in my life since the beginning until I leave for Spain and maybe learn how to create some roots.

With all this in my mind, I went back to yoga Monday with a clear mind only to find we will be starting a new project of learning how to express ourselves correctly. I couldn’t believe it! The universe really does work in strange, miraculous ways. It could have sent me a relationship that I would have been too immature to understand but instead it gave me tools to grow as a human, to one day have a healthy relationship.

Sincerely,

HKx

Obligatory New Years Post

Let me first start off by saying, I am not a fan of new years. Nothing to do with bad past experiences or anything like that, I just don’t see the point in it. After all, it’s not really my new year. My new year starts the day of my birthday but in hopes of not being too difficult I go along with all the festivities and resolutions and (hopefully) not let on how stupid I think the whole thing really is.

That being said, this year was a particularly great one to reign in. I really stepped out of my comfort zone, took on a few challenges I had been meaning to get around to, and learned new things about myself. For instances I started going to parties and I survived going to a concert without having a total break down. Two things that are pretty big achievements since I have suffered from panic attacks for most of my life and crowds are by far my biggest triggers. I became vegan, something I had wanted to do since I was a little girl and started reducing my belongings as I slowly make my way to becoming a minimalist. I made great strides in the romance department in ways of figuring out what I actually want/need in a partner and how I work in those given situations. And lastly, I started taking my yoga practice so seriously that I decided to become certified.

I also had some crazy curve balls thrown my way like being evacuated from the summer camp I was working/living at because of a giant forest fire. But I also made some awesome new friends and got to see how the other half lived for a weekend. In other words, I had a really awesome year.

So when it came to making my new years resolutions, I must say, I was at loss. After all, I had been eating healthy for the past four months and working out (pretty much) everyday since April. I don’t drink or consume anything that could possibly poison my body (this even includes caffeine) and, as far as I am aware, there was no bad quality I possessed that I desperately needed to work on. I mean, that’s why last year was so great, it was because I had grown so much. Then it dawned on me. While I was working on me, my love for writing and photography had taken a backseat. Two things I very much loved doing.

In conclusion, this year I plan to focus on my artsy side. Maybe finally finish that novel I have been working on for the past five years, use my camera for more fun things, learn how poetry works, and (hopefully) update my blog more.

HKx

Finding my Tuscan Sun

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Monday night, as my nieces and nephew were fast asleep in the other room, I sat alone on my aunt’s couch watching a film I never in my life expected too: Under the Tuscan Sun.

One of the reoccurring themes in this film is fate and at that very moment – and still to this day-- I believe that it was fate that I happened to turn on that film.  The lines speak to my heart in the most haunting way, while the characters bring to life people in my own.

Though I am not going through a major break up like the lead, I feel like I have been trying to get over a loss that was just bad as hers. Not only that, but I have been trying to get over it the same way as her by escaping to places unknown and trying to find the ending goal: happiness. But that’s the problem with happiness, you can’t go searching for happiness, happiness finds you. A lesson she learns through out the film and though I relate more to the lead I long to be the miraculous English woman with her fancy hats and ice cream. Something I believe the protagonist wishes to be too. She lives in the moment and allows magic into her life rather then trying to create it herself. Because of this she is happy and is never second-guessing or wondering that dreaded “what if”.

Maybe it’s the left over wanderlust from England or maybe it’s the fact that I have fallen in love with some obsolete film but I want to go on adventures. I want to travel the world. I want to walk the El Camino Trail, visit the rooms that hold great historical value to the life of the Romanovs, live in a villa in Italy for a summer, teach children in a foreign country.  In other words, I just want to live.

The problem with living though is that it costs money and in order to get money you have to study hard and work vigorously. Two things I am thankfully good at but it still doesn’t make my dream completely attainable, but who know? Maybe with the right amount of positivity and will power I can make this dream a reality.

Adventure's Out There!

For those of you who know me or have kept up with my blog, you would know that I have recently returned from living abroad in the North of England. An experience that I don’t think I will ever forget. The adventure itself was so inspiring and beneficial that as I flew back into the states I knew that I entering the country as a completely different person from the one who left it.

Because of England I now have a five-year-plan—Well, a more realistic five-year-plan I should say. When I started this blog if you would have asked me if I knew what I wanted to do with my life I would have given you an answer on what I wanted, but not an answer on how to get there. Something I now know.

Another thing that has changed is that I am more open-minded and at peace with myself. It’s funny I have never once been that person who has questioned their identify, if anything I was always quite sure of beliefs and what I wanted out of life, but as my journey continues I discover more qualities or dreams I never even knew I had. So I don’t know if I can really call that discovering or growing?

I think this all came about because, for the first time since I was 14, I was only responsible for me. Being the oldest of your siblings is always hard since you are constantly being view as a role model but when you are put in the situation where you have to become a motherly figure to one of your siblings because of health issues in your family, your whole world turns upside down and you begin to stop taking care of your own personal needs.

When I was in England I did not feel like I had to watch what I said or did, because no one knew me. And as far as I knew, they would never see me again. For once I could be myself without any consequences. So I treated England like an adventure. Whenever I was out I took in everything around me and talked to whomever I could, eager to learn new things and become more diverse. I met people who I know have changed my life forever and saw things that have made me realize just how magical this world truly is.

I am so thankful for my time I spent abroad that I would like to dedicate my next five posts to them. So my fellow readers bear with me as I reminisce in some of the best moments of my life.

Portrait of Louis-Auguste Schwiter

When I was in grammar school the thought of one day being married or much less in a relationship repulsed me. I hated the idea of having to kiss someone with cooties or having to be dependent upon someone other than myself. But my mother always told me that one day when I was all grown up I would change my mind and fall in love with a nice young man who would one day become my husband. And when I pictured this "nice young man" I would always see the same person standing before me. Some tall, thin man with dark hair and eyes who had a pale complexion. His personality or interests were never apparent to me but from what I saw I was scared. Because, though he was handsome, he would one day become the person, I believed, would take away all of my freedom.

As I grew older I began to become less disgusted by the idea of having to be with someone. True it still scared me but it was starting to become more of a pleasant idea. Soon those dark eyes became less of a threat and more of a comfort and his height became more of a need since my neck hurt from looking down so much. But no matter how many pictures you create in your mind of a person you will never be prepared for what they actually look like because, let's face it, finding him would like finding a needle in a haystack

So when I grew up a bit more I opened up my mind to other features and started to like boys with ginger hair or darker skin, leaving the guy from mind for my characters on the pages. In fact I had completely moved on from my middle school fantasies until today when I entered London's National Gallery and found his portrait hanging right in front of me.

There, painted onto a life size canvas, was the portrait of the man I had once planned on marrying. The picture is of a young man named Louis-Auguste Schwiter, a painter and soon to be baron who lived from 1805 until 1889. That is more than a century before my time, a fact that scares me more than I could possibly explain.  How could I have possibly come up with a real life person I have never before today?

It's eerie how someone from the past could have the exact likeness of a man you created in your head when you were five. 

HKx
The painting is entitled: Portrait of Louis-Auguste Schwiter. It was painted in 1826-30 by the artist Eugène Delacroix of the soon to be baron, Louis-Auguste Schwiter

Pen Pals

One thing you should know about me is that I am driven. If I want something, nothing ever stands in my way, well unless there is food. And sadly there is always food present so nothing exciting ever happens to me. But sometimes I want something that surpasses my love for food and that is when I become unstoppable.

When I was a junior in high school, I decided I was tired of the small town life and I needed to get out. So what did I do? I auditioned for one of the most prestigious art high schools in the country in hopes of changing my future. Not that I didn't love my hometown, I just did not want to be stuck there forever. Plus I wanted to go on great adventures and write endless amount of stories, which I was able to do since I got in for creative writing and was allowed to go my senior year.

There was a catch though, in order to get there I had to drive on the freeway for an hour each way and since I was afraid of the freeway I decided to joined a carpool group. Something that can not only be fun but cause a lot of problems. Either way it happens create bonds that last a lifetime.

One of these bonds was with a freshman named Olivia, since we were constantly driving together I adopted her as my honorary sister. Olivia is very funny, sweet individual who happens to tell the best stories and always has a cheery can-do attitude. No car ride is complete with out her I assure you. And even though a year has past since our last carpool she still remains my adopted sister and we have since then become Pen Pals.

Originally we were only suppose to send letters but two weeks ago she step it up a notch by sending me my very first care package.

This care package was unlike anything I could have ever imagined. Inside was a giant ziplock bag filled with cowboy cookies made from scratch by the wonderful bakers Mima (Olivia's grandmother) and my Pen Pal herself. They even bought me a huge bag of Starbursts. It was a gift from the gods, something you would know to be true if you had ever tried one of Mima's delectable creations. Also, inside the package was a beautifully written letter from them both that kept me smiling all week long.

To Olivia and Mima, thank you!

HK x

Mother Nature

Before we enter grade school we learn a lot of important lessons such as "sharing is caring" and "if you make the mess you clean it up", lessons that become engrained into our brains and sort of haunt us forever-- or at least our parents hope. But there is one lesson that stand out amongst all the rest of me, which is "don't me a litterbug."

I remember one day --back when I was three or four-- I was walking to the playground with my fellow classmates and the teacher on hand told us, once again, not to litter, this time adding that if we did we would kill Mother Nature. Now she probably said dirty, not kill but in my little four-year-old brain I heard a word so much more drastic. It wasn't that I was being over dramatic; I just had a very active imagination that made everything a bit more… intense. It was on that day when Mother Nature became a person as great and magical to me as Santa Clause.

To me she was some long haired, feral woman in tattered clothes imprisoned under the cemented sidewalks and paved roads. She was sad and desperate because she dying from all the pain we had put her through. And with this image ingrained into my young mind I was haunted by the cruel things we humans did. From that day forward I would pick up any trash on the ground and reprimand the people who subconsciously hurt her.  At one point of my youth I protested against cars, saying that they were the things that were smothering her and keeping her from growing. Back then I thought she was so scared for her future that that was why she lashed out with earthquakes and tsunamis, hoping with each natural disaster we would stop this abomination and help her thrive. Something we still haven’t let her do.

Now that I am older I realize how insane most of that sounds but it still doesn’t mean we should be careless and ruin our planet. No, we should do our best to protect her and keep her safe. Each of us should be aware of our dying planet and try to help her by recycling and become just little more eco friendly. Below are five simple steps to lessen are carbon foot print:

1. Recycle and reuse
2. Carpool once a week
3. Replace bottled water with reusable, portable bottles
4. Clean up trash (whether it's your's or not)
5. Unplug unused chargers/appliances and turn off unnecessary lights.

HK x 

The outfit in the pictures above was styled by my friend Elana. The sweater and jewelery is from her closet while the skirt is from my aunts. The earthy feel of the photographs was inspired by my four year old interpretation of Mother Nature.

Snail Mail

If you are a fan of The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis then you should remember the scene when Lucy returns from her full day trip in Narnia for the first time, only to find not second had past since she had entered the wardrobe. Well that is exactly what camp is like.

An hour here seems like a day and a day feels like a week. Time is not something that one can count on up here on the mountain and our memories become somewhat muddled on when a particular incident actually accrued. Causing us to sit and ponder over what actually happened today and what happened the week before, in the end creating more funny memories.

But no matter what day we think it is, the sun finds her own way to remind us when it is time to do important things. When I awake in the morning I am greeted with the pale yellow sun peaking through the trees, telling me it's time to rise with it and when the sun reaches its unbearable heat, I know that lunch will soon be on it's way. Though this may all seem like common sense, it is common sense most of us have seem to forgotten. Our generation is so caught up in its modern trappings, that we forget we have all the answers right outside our front door.

One thing that we have seem to forgotten in this modern time is the original way of long distance of communication. With everyone on Facebook and Twitter we have seem to forgotten the beauty of a letter and with that we have become a very impatient generation. My heart longs for the days when people would receive a letter filled with meaningful lines scripted in the long forgotten art of calligraphy. I would much rather use that form of correspondence over a three worded text message any day.

For most of my life I have tried to communicate through letter with my friends but very rarely would any of them reply because, according to them, it's ridiculous to wait for mail when we only live a short distance away from one another. But now that I am living in a place that has no cell phone service they have finally given into my request of becoming "pen pals".

With each new letter I receive I feel as though I am becoming one of the characters from my beloved Austen or Gaskell novels. I love it when the post brings me a short sealed story about some excited venture my friends or family have gone on. And since I have so many new stories to tell now, I cannot wait to send some out as well.

HKx

Just around the riverbend

 

Though my summer has been quite rewarding, it wasn't until recently that I discovered I was taking my new home for granted. On Thursday the workers of this fine arts camp experienced cool winds for the first time since our arrival. So after our morning meeting I returned to my dorms, tugged a pair of jeans over my sun damaged legs and set off on an adventure.

Walking through the tall tree's of the forest that surrounded me, I reached a brook I happened upon my first week here. This particular brook is by far the prettiest one I have seen in a long time. It happens to remind me a bit of England or more specifically a film I watched as a child, entitled Fairytale: Based on a True Story.

As I mentioned before in a past post, I have always been interested by the mythical folk of the fairy realms. The whimsical or terrifying nature of each creature has always fascinated me beyond all measure. So whenever I find some place that is whimsical and would seem as though these beings from fables lived there, I write down the coordinates and return whenever I am in need of a little bit of magic.

And, I am excited to announce, that just beyond the riverbend more magic will be coming my way since I am going to be living England for three months starting August 25.

I will say --though I am extremely excited to be returning to my second home-- I am a bit concerned with who I will be spending most of my time with when over there. After all, it has been five years since I was last there and that time I came over with a friend. What am I suppose to do this time? True I will have my family, but spending three months straight with anyone could drive the sanest person crazy. So what am I to do? How do people meet others in a different country when they aren't in school?

A job would be my first option but that seems really unlikely since there are practically no jobs in England right now and that leaves me with my option left, I must hang out in bookstores and museums until someone notices me. A solution I am not too optimistic about. So if any of you guys have ideas about how to meet people please let me know in the comments below and I will be tremendously grateful.

HKx
The title is from the song Just Around the Riverbend from the Disney film Pocahontas.

Bidding the teenage era adieu

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Tonight is my last night being nineteen. That means it’s my last night of being a teenager. Though I am not your typical teenage girl, it’s still an end of an era. It seems like only yesterday my mom was reading me Beatrix Potter and my parents were taking me to Disneyland to watch The Lion King Parade or The Electric Light Parade. But that was so long ago, even those parades have come to a halt. I guess it is Disney’s way of showing me that my era of childhood is over and it’s time to move over for the next generation.

It’s such a bittersweet thing really, because in many ways I still feel like a child. As I am away at my counseling job --having the time of my life-- I have moments of homesickness. In fact when I was sick for a few day’s the only thing I wanted to do was go home and have my mom make me a cup of mint tea with a spoonful of honey, some chicken noodle soup, and a slice of toast while I watched Doctor Who with her. Something she only puts up with when I am ill. It’s not that I want to babied, it’s just that sometimes I want to go back to a simpler time where things seemed to always make sense.

Just a few moments ago I ended a Skype session with my mom. As the conversation came to a close our connection started to get a bit shaky, and she could no longer hear me even though I could hear her. Instead of trying to get a hold of me, she softly sang me one of my old lullabies. Like the pivotal moment of an action film, I desperately tried to save the connection only to realize it was no use. So I sat back against my pillow, snuggled deeper into my blanket, and decided to be a child once more as I listened to the last few verses of my lullaby. When she was done singing, she ended the session and I was left alone, wishing she could tuck me in like she once had a very long time ago.

Sometimes I don’t understand why people want to grow up so fast or why they are even embarrassed of their parents. I mean our parents do so much for us. Feed us, cloth us, put up with us when we are at our worst. They are kind of like the super heroes you read about in comic books, always there to catch you when you fall. I remember when I was little my mom would always joke about how birthdays should be about the one who gave birth not about the person who came out, something I now happen to agree with.

Above is something I wrote the night before I turned 20. I thought it would be nice to share it, since one day, when I am older I plan on rereading these blog posts and seeing how much my thoughts have changed.

The two pictures happen to be from my actual birthday.  Above is the cake my parents brought me from back home and below is a picture of my two counseling roommates (and best friends). All and all I had a very nice, relaxing day.

 

 

HKx

The Writer and Their Journal

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Just a few of the many journals given to me over the years.

About a week ago one of my favorite bloggers, Ava Jae (the creator of Writability), wrote a post on writers and their relationship with journals entitled, Writers: Do You Keep a Journal. She stated how she was, “slightly envious of writer who could maintain a journal” and went on to talk about her failed attempts and reasons she figured it didn’t work out for her. She believes it is because we, as writers, get so caught up in the drama or everyday happenings in our fake worlds that we find our own realities inconsequential.

And I got to say, I agree with her. Once I decided to write down everything I did in a single day and in the end all I got was: food, writing, food, day dreamed, food, writing, made it out side, had some more food, bed time. And reading it over now this list makes me feel more pathetic than reminiscent. And I mean some times people will enter my list and help make life somewhat exciting but since I am a busy person who only makes friends with busy people our schedules matching up is very unlikely. In the end I am forced to write in a journal about me writing, which, in itself, seems rather redundant. Maybe this is why writers write, to escape our own monotone lives.

My relationship with maintaining a journal though isn’t much different to hers. I have always tried to write about my life, true it was mainly because Alzheimer’s runs in family, but I do try to make an effort for the fun of it. Also I hear it’s quite fun to laugh about yourself later on. But since it is more of a hassle than a habit I have decided to force myself to write in my journal whenever I make it to some great milestones, my birthday, and New Years Eve. That way I can write a quick summary about everything that has happened in my life and I have a pretty good outline for when I loose my memory.

And this brings us to part two of the post. I don’t know how well it relates, but I feel like these two things have to be together: What is it about people always giving writers notebooks? I get at least one during each gift giving holiday and by now I own exactly sixty journals --one of which I bought myself-- so how come fifty-nine people think they need to buy my one? Well according to a little quip inside one of my gifts, “Because every writer could always use another notebook!”

Well my dear friend, I happen to disprove that theory.

I do believe at one point in time this theory was viable but now that we have word document I am afraid our need for clean paper isn’t as constant as it once was. This makes me sad of course, I mean, wish I was scarce on paper but even if I were to only use my notebooks to write all of the stories that I stored up inside my head, I would still have a few left over. Because, honestly, there is no way my life will ever be exciting enough to fill up so many blank pages.

But I do hope fate proves me wrong.

HKx

If you would like to read the original post, or check Ava Jae's blog, please click the titles above and they should send you straight to her link. Also if you click on her name, you will be sent to her twitter. You should follow her, she is amazing.

After Neverland

 

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As I write this particular post I sit in the back of a jam-packed bus, listening to Fairytale, an instrumental number by Once in a Red Moon (one of my favorite Old English folk song’s, even if it was composed quite recently), heading off to a much-needed writing retreat. 

Since the fall I have been feeling uninspired my surroundings. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem because I had already accepted my mundane life and didn’t think that there was anything all that magical outside of my imagination and books. But then, in 2011, I was accepted into a very prestigious art school for Creative Writing and simple world was turned upside down. 

Suddenly my life was filled with artsy, outgoing, and creative people who didn’t care what the outside world had thought of them (something that very evident in way they dressed). Within no time at all I had new friends that would take me on crazy adventures and introduces me to places like The The Gypsy Den or secret libraries hidden underground. Giving me my most magical year thus far.

But magic is a fickle thing and sooner or later it wears off. After finding my Neverland and meeting friends I could only dream of making, I came to the decision that what I was experiencing was my golden year, the year my life was like a fairytale. But just because something ends happily, does not mean you get a happily ever after. Being forced back into the world I had left, I soon found myself struggling to fake a smile. Making me feel like a circus character, wandering the railway tracks searching for a big red tent and a family of freaks to call her own.

Over this past year I kept in touch with my old family of artsy freaks and even made a new one. Making me feel less like a weary traveler and more like someone who belongs. But for the past few months we have been very busy, each of us dealing with things like school, work, or blossoming relationships. Being more of an independent person, I have enjoyed this time of solitude. Using each precious moment to get through my studies, start a blog, and do some spring-cleaning. In fact I even got a new job to make some extra cash. But now that everything is in its place, and my first year of university is over with, all I want is an adventure. Something none of my friend can do at the moment since they are still going through their final exams.

I know an adventure is on its way though. Starting this Tuesday my friends will be done with their studies and we will be able to continue our Baking Thursdays, bike rides, and game nights. But as for now, I will sit here contently and write adventures of my own, secretly anticipating the new ones to come.

 

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The pictures were taken and edited by my good friend, Brandon Lee. I am wearing a black dress in chiffon crêpe dress from H&M and a pair of black tights. The shoes I got at a shoe outlet for $20 and the gloves were from Next. the jewelry, they were gifts given to me over the years. As for the skirt, I made it with some elastic, black and red tool, white felt, scissors, and a hot glue gun about two years ago 

HKx

The rustle of the wind reminds us a fairy is near...

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The term Fairy was coined in the Roman and Grecian times and derives from the Late Latin word fata, meaning, one of the personified fates. In other words a guardian or tutelary spirit, or just a spirit in general. The word soon entered the French vocabulary meaning the land, realm, or characteristic activity (i.e. enchantment) of the legendary people of folklore and romance called faie or fee. Then as the great country of England began to form, they took the term for the mischievous folk they believed came from this magical land faie and call them fairies.

And as their belief in them grew so did their fear. For you see fairies weren’t always little balls of lights that jingled while they flew. Those creatures you have read about in Peter Pan were Pixies. The fae (or the original fairy) on the other hand were tall, beautiful, sloth like, lustful tricksters who found pleasure in tormenting the humans. In fact our ancestors of this time would leave them gifts to keep their crops safe and their children from being usually with a child of the fae or a plank of wood. And honestly, if your children had to be stolen, you want the plank of wood. It was way less deadly.

since they were all superstitious they wouldn’t even say their names, afraid that by saying it they were giving the fae the opportunity to come into their homes. Instead they would call them things like the wee folk, the good folk, people of peace, the fair folk, or the people who live on the hill. And sometimes, if humans could afford it, they would even install iron gates to surround their property, the only true repellent for the fae.

Toward the beginning of my days upon this earth my parents would tease me saying that I was one of them and that only reason they kept me was because the fae, my people, had left me in a basket on their front step. In the end they had no other choice but to take me in. And being a child I believed every word of it.  

Growing up I was told a lot of Irish folk tales and stories about fairies, so the idea of me actually being wasn’t too far fetched. When I was little I also believed that with my fairy blood came special powers like controlling the weather or conversing with trees or even flying. My imagination was so vivid, that I have a vague memory of me flying around my grandmother’s house. Of course my powers of flying and talking to plants deceased as I grew older and I was forced to face reality, but my love for the fae and their mythology did not.

At young age I decided I want to either write books about them when I grew up or become an anthropologist and study the artifacts found dating back to the renaissance era (one of my favorite times in history because of their superstitions). So when I went to the Renaissance Faire I was excited to find that some of the workers were dressed as the fae. For most of my time there I watched how each of them played the part. Each playing it exactly how the Renaissance made them out to be and not how modern times perceives them. Each was ominous and terrifyingly beautiful in their own way, helping bring the magic of the Renaissance to life.

Hudson Kelly x

The title is quoted from an unknown author