The charmed life of Starr 🌠

Leila, the mother of the child...swears on an unbroken circle of salt, with sugarplums and purified water for sustenance within the circle, that when Starr was born, all the heavenly bodies aligned to become one great big star...pointing the way to her celestial name.

Whenever Starr laughed, golden threads of constellations collided...the angelic brush of wind against her cheeks speaking just to her. The scent of jasmine wafting in-between the moments seemed freshly invented.

Her lived life was filled completely up...in giggles, scraped knees, reckless poems and love letters that never found a mailbox. This was her first lifetime as far as she can remember...this was the miracle of learning how to marvel.

🎶 Songs she adored would sound brand-new every time they played, like melodies tucked behind familiar verses, waiting for her to listen with a heart newly remade.

🦋 Even pain, she bore with forced smiles, her heart softened by wisdom born of unremembered explorations long written in the annals of time.

Nothing vanished, but would shimmer differently, like an old scar embraced by her memory, but suppressed. She’d honor time, revel in it, never hiding in it.

Love she found, would be timeless. Not naive, not rehearsed...just infinite. The kind that doesn’t need explaining, only admiring eyes, the gentle touch of fingertips and a heart open to possibilities.

Starr’s Awakening

She began not with thunder, but with a hush...Then grew exponentially as she matured.

One morning, Starr stood barefoot on the dew-laced grass, watching the sunlight scatter itself across her fingers like shy golden magic. Something within her...something quiet and long asleep...something primordial, stirred. It wasn’t a voice or vision. It was the memory of a feeling she was newly discovering - Wonder!

She didn’t chase it. She simply allowed it.

🪞 In mirrors she saw who she would become... and would ever be. Her reflection blinked back not with judgment, but with knowing, with a curiosity carved within the reflection.

Even the birds seemed to fly in phrases she understood.

Such a strange child, the avian observers contemplated, she exuded messages, invitations...promises to roam, to unravel, to travel and remember. They called out to her, saw her as a kindred spirit.

🌸 Colors within Starr's world were as hues, as emotions, which heightened the senses and opened the eyes to a world beyond where she longed to lose herself.

Crimson felt like courage. Azure tasted like freedom. Colors danced in unison with the symphony played upon the uncertainties of life. For by no means did she believe, with naivety, that life was perfect. She saw imperfections, sadness and loss everywhere.

She began journaling with no plan. Scribbled words like “almost” and “maybe” filled the page until one day, she wrote:

"I am not a sequel. I am a prelude".

That was the moment of 'aha'. Life is a conglomeration, a number of different things, parts or items that are grouped together...a collection: a mix, collection, cluster , assortment, variety, medley, pot-pourri and miscellany of things to be further and fully explained.

Not rebirth. Not reinvention. But a series of reunions...with the part of herself that never stopped believing life could be stitched anew.

Defining Moments in Starr’s First Life

Before her awakening...Starr’s life was strewn with vivid chapters that defined her essence. Moments that shaped her, cracked her open, and stitched pain, loss and wonder into her soul.

💫

At seven, Starr tied a crimson ribbon around her wrist and declared herself queen of her own kingdom - one ruled by daydreams and defiance. Her parents thought it was cute. Her teacher said it was disruptive. But Starr knew...that ribbon was her promise never to shrink herself to fit someone else’s version of 'quiet'.

One summer, she painted over her bedroom mirror...not to hide her reflection, but to turn it into a portal. Each brushstroke carried memories she couldn’t voice aloud: when her pet died, the first time someone forgot her name, the time she almost said "I love you" and swallowed it instead. When she finally scraped the paint away, her face looked stronger. Less apologetic.

🎶 Harmony in chipped strings and skybound dreams

There was a boy with chipped guitar strings and a voice that cracked on high notes. They climbed onto a rooftop one night and sang together to the stars. That song...off-key and untamed...became her anthem. The moment she believed love didn’t need harmony. Just courage.

🕰️

She missed a train once and spent an hour waiting in a sleepy station. That delay led to a conversation with a stranger who spoke in riddles and smelled of peppermint. He told her:

"Time forgets people who try too hard to remember it". She never forgot those words.

📚 Her Journal of Almosts

She filled a worn notebook with things she never did: letters unsent, doors unopened, dances declined. It was meant to be a ledger of regret. But rereading it years later, she realized...those “almosts” were seeds. Seeds that never bloomed because she hadn’t yet become the gardener.

These were her defining firsts. Raw, flawed, brilliant. They didn’t teach her how to live...they reminded her that she was living.

........

And so, when her second first time began… it wasn’t a restart.

It was a continuation- with fuller breath, louder colors, and no more need to ask for permission.

For Starr, this second first time would feel like immortality not because she’d live forever...but because she’d live deeper. Every moment would stretch like the sky after rain, full of color she’d once missed.

She’d write again, but now with wisdom in her ink. Laugh again, but louder than she ever dared. And when people asked her how she stayed so luminous, she’d smile and say:

"I didn’t live twice. I simply remembered how to begin".

And in that second first time, Starr didn’t try to reclaim youth.

She welcomed the immortality of possibility. Starr had learned these lessons well.

Defining moments are not mere memories; they become compass points. Each one etching a philosophy into your spirit, shaping instincts long after the echoes have quieted. Luminous fragments of our first life sculpt the choices made when life offers a second beginning

🎀

Whenever a choice loomed between compromise and conviction, Starr remembered the ribbon. She chose roles, relationships, and rituals that celebrated rather than diminished her intensity.

🖌️

She learned to express herself. That mirror taught her art was liberation...not perfection. She painted on café napkins, designed poetry on sidewalks, and even once turned her attic into a museum of unsent feelings.

🎵

She didn’t search for fairytales anymore. Starr chose love that felt real even when it trembled. She sang off-key with friendships that made her laugh, wrote letters to those she outgrew, and stayed gentle with herself when goodbyes arrived. Harmony wasn’t always necessary; resonance was enough.

⏳

In a world obsessed with productivity, she made space for pauses, lingered in libraries, wandered down unplanned alleys, took train rides with no destination. That peppermint-scented stranger had shown her that serendipity blooms in slowed time. She stopped chasing clocks...and started catching moments.

📖 Journal. Rewriting "No" into "Now".

Rather than mourn what wasn’t, use “almosts” as kindling. Travel where you once hesitated, dance barefoot on the seashore where you once skipped freedom as too banal, forgive those you couldn’t before. Each page of that old journal will become a prompt for action...not regret.

Choices need no be dramatic revolutions. They can be soft refusals...to be qui et-ed, diluted or delayed.

To live a second first time means no longer needing to ask if you can.

She now just simply asks...how fully!

Starr is a shadow blooming with quiet power, mystery, and all of the possibilities she dares to awaken, her essence taking shape.