Fairyland
Fairyland is a magical place where a girl can sparkle, forever.
In 2011, I wrote the following words in a diary entry:
I believe in God somehow. Sometimes I believe in fairies. This is me and this is who I am.
Since I could form a single coherent thought, I have always believed in magic. Magic went hand in hand with my faith, my values, and the things that truly moved my heart.
I ran around our somewhat-countryside family home dizzy with dreams of magical quests and flighty fairies and hidden realms.
One minute I was writing a nature song and whimsy poem, then the next I was wrapped up in the living room curtains pretending to chat with imaginary beings.
Fairytales were my true first language and everything as far as my eyes could see was only a fraction of a great beyond that was full of adventure and uninhibited joy.
I was going to save the world, fight wild beasts, fall through a portal into another universe. And even when no one took me seriously, even when people disregarded my fantasies, I would turn to the creatures I had found to be my friends—the dragonflies I chased after, the ants I watched march along the pavements, the snails crawling through the garden that I enjoyed speaking to—finding understanding in their presence, perhaps a type of validation that there was greatness in me. Not that I myself was great, but that I had been given this wonderful secret, this whimsical mind that could uncover all kinds of magnificent things.
Safe to say, I was a strange child.
Deliriously happy, bursting with dreams, and tirelessly myself.
A lot changed in my life when I grew up.
Sometimes even the term “growing up” rubs me the wrong way, as if another year added to my life could shake up the entire foundation of my personality. It didn’t, by the way. And people didn’t like that it didn't. I was told to put away my dreaming, my ideas, my hobbies. It was uncouth that my passions were plural. I needed to be a “serious writer”, a journalist even. And if I was going to be famous, I had to be the best, the most perfect. I mean, didn’t I know that reality was going to hit me hard. I wasn’t 9 anymore, imagination wasn’t a priority.
The older I got the more my dreams and magical mentality grew. But my fears were growing just as fast. I was fighting to be free of the chains that came with rejection, and dismissal, and disrespect. I felt misunderstood, like an outcast whose dreams and philosophies weren’t in line with true artistry. I was too childish, too playful, too happy, too colorful, too weird-but-not-in-a-cool-way, and of course: We’re not in this studio class to make children stories, Anastasia, we’re here to create art!
Fast forward to 2022, I found myself in the oddest of crossroads. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know which direction to go with my art and my worlds. All my plans had gone up in flames (and I love to plan, so you can imagine the horror!). I was back in my old bedroom, staring out the window, a yawning emptiness inside me. I was a failure, fated to wither away in a deep, dark hole for the rest of her life.
And then along came a dream.
A flood of new stories and ideas orbiting a brightly lit universe, a hard nudge from my inner child telling me to get the heck up because she wanted to play. Along came FAIRYLAND.
Maybe it was the renewed nostalgia of being surrounded by my old journals and favorite fantasy novels. Maybe it was the box of prayers and wishes I had filled up throughout elementary and middle school. Or maybe it was one of those miracles that happen when we least expect it, telling us that yes we have indeed fought hard for our dreams, but maybe now we can just live them.
And I was living in such awe.
In Fairyland, I could talk to pixies, dance on the moon, teleport through numerous realms on bizarre quests, write the songs to the magical movies playing on repeat in my head, I could even fly.
In Fairyland, dreams were endless and I could save the universe, my universe, every single day.
🌟
To all my past obnoxious professors, no-longer-friendly friends, and uppity relatives:
You were right. I am a fool. A silly little fairy roaming the skies. I grew up just to become my younger self all over again. Only this time, I’m wiser.
I know how to make plans and stay organized. I’ve built my skills and honed my craft. I know how to love myself better. And now, all I see before me is hope and hope and more hope.
So if you’re a magical girl like me, anxious to know what the future will bring, terrified that your dreams are all for nought: Don’t give up. Close your eyes, take that deep breath, and hold on to your faith, trust, and pixie dust.
Fairyland exists
and it’s waiting for you.
xx Anastasia
