Superstition & Fantasy

Children often believe in superstitions or play games that involve dares. Did you have any childhood fantasies or create stories to explain things that frightened you? What memories do you have of dares or daring others as a kid? What do you think about your superstitions and those dares now?


Although I had trouble sleeping as a kid, fear didn’t seem to be the reason (in most cases). I can’t think of a lot of things that frightened me as a child. We never had “that house,” on our block. We didn’t have ghosts on our street. The only ghosts that I knew of were at school (made up stories by attention-loving children,) and in tales that my father tells me.

There’s a restaurant called Moss Beach Distillery in, you guessed it, Moss Beach, California. I remember my father telling me of a ghost, The Blue Lady, who steals jewelry and who locks doors to rooms where there are no other means of access. The Blue Lady never frightened me. But I wanted to believe. The one time I went there, I decided to run some tests. I left an earring in the bathroom, hidden behind a roll of toilet paper, then came back after I was finished eating. The earring was there. In my mind, I made up excuses as to why she didn’t take it, e.g., she was busy terrorizing someone else. As I said, I wanted to believe. And sometimes, I still do. Hey, I’m kind of proud of how my past-self wanted to figure out if this ghost was “alive.”

A story of fantasy that I created, came about when I was at the beach with my sisters. I was laying down among the Carpobrotus edulis, (“Ice Plants,”) already sounding magical, and I began to image fairies. Like many other children, I was excited with the idea of living among tiny people. They would fly on their insects, black beetles, ladybirds, and moths. I watched them swoop and spin, seeming too similar to the Blue Angels. I told one of my sisters and she acted as though she fully agreed and believed that I saw them. I was confused between fantasy and reality, not sure if I was lying or just seeing what wasn’t meant to be seen. Though she admitted that she didn’t see them, she supported my imagination. Thank you, Sabina. To this day, I don’t know if she truly believed me. I still don’t really want to know. 🙂

When I was slightly older, I ready these books titled The Unicorn Chronicles. As someone fully obsessed with horses, I quickly began imagining myself running with these wild unicorns. Though fully aware that it was only fantasy, I reveled in these moments. I still think of this, though with horses, and I can do this now in real life.

The first time I dreamed lucidly, I was walking peacefully through a forest of golden and silver trees. The trees branched upward so strongly, their arms reaching up like how we reach for our toes in P.E. tests. The silver leaves were thin and delicate, the veins running carefully upward, wanting desperately to quietly reach as high as the trunks. Bronze running up and down the trunk stopped the trees from being too bright; platinum made the leaves even brighter. Once I gained all control of the dream, I began to create flowers with my mind. Beautiful, perfect, ruby, amethyst, diamond, aquamarine, citrine and sapphire, flowers. All these colors and shapes. They dared me to pick them, I didn’t dare. The emerald grass shone and was somehow soft yet still a stone. The earth breathed warmth, it seeped into my skin, my heart. Then I woke up. “Choir morning!”…Yes mom, I know. Yeah, so that’s when I knew I was a nature-freak.

My dad has always loved the idea of other beings living in the universe. He would watch videos trying to prove alien existence. Mulder would be proud. 🙂 My dad invited me to watch them with him. I enjoyed most of it, except for the fake bodies of aliens. Their reverse-teardrop-shaped faces scared me. So. Much. I went through a phase where when I walked into my room at night, when the lights were off, I couldn’t help but picture those faces staring at me, judging me like I believed my classmates would. Haha yes, I was a social outcast in kindergarten.

Then there was “Slumdog Millionaire.” My parents didn’t mean to let me watch it, but we watched it as a family and I think they forgot I was there. Gosh, that video scarred me. I saw poverty, and I saw torture…and I was young. I had nightmares upon nightmares about being electrocuted and about being held under water, ending in blackouts that would only end when I woke up. Sometimes I still feel the fear from that movie today and I know that my fear then made sense, and that my fear still makes sense.

Thanks for reading!:)Please check out some of my other posts to get good reading suggestions. Feel free to comment below!


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