The Old Man's Hands

Hi there!

So instead of doing a video today, for various reasons that include feeling under the weather and an absence of motivation, I wrote another short story. It is meant to be folklore/parable in the style of the Grimm Brothers, that can stand alone and also works as a mythology tie-in to my novel.

It gets quite dark, purposefully though so I don't suppose I'll apologize for that, but a fair warning is always good! Happy Halloween?

Anyway, it might be subject to some edits - as I can never quite lay my work to rest - but here it is in its early glory! I hope you all enjoy!

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The Old Man's Hands

by Chantille Millena

Long ago, in the depth of the woods lived an Old Man in an old oak cabin. Strong in his youth until the tides of time wore his hands brittle and veiled his eyes. And so he sat by the fire, warm and unafraid, for Death's sweet kiss to wither him away from this world.

So it would happen that one night, a storm arrived. Vicious and vile, it blew wildly against the trees, scattering wet leaves and shattering feeble branches; rain fell in floods that drowned light and life; and a darkness brewed.

Amongst the shadows there was a lone Fox, helplessly lost in the storm, who came across The Old Man's cabin, seeking shelter.

He rapped on the great oak door. "O good sir, please could I share in your warmth but for one night? The storm is fierce and I am so hungry," he begged The Old Man.

"You are safe and welcome here, friend," replied The Old Man, ushering the shivering creature inside. "Stay as long as you like and eat what you please to stay your hunger."

"Thank you, sir," said The Fox. "How can I repay this kindness?"

The Old Man smiled, returning to his place by the fire, "I am old and was ready to embrace my end until you came upon my cabin. Perhaps it was fated. Your company is all the payment I seek, but once the storm has cleared you could fetch me some berries and feed me, for I no longer can feed myself. In exchange, I could feed a hunger for you that no food can satisfy."

Curious, The Fox asked, "What hunger would that be?"

"Knowledge, friend," The Old Man said. "I can teach you to read."

"Read?" The Fox laughed, "And what would a fox need with reading?"

"Do not limit your life to what's just in front of your nose, friend. There are worlds far beyond your sight. In the morning, fetch me some berries and you will see." And The Old Man fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning he woke to mounds of the ripest berries, berries of all kinds. The Old Man was pleased. And so he taught The Fox to read. Letters one day, words the next, parables after, and soon, he read thousands of complex books.

When he had mastered reading, The Old Man asked him for a fish and in exchange he would teach him to write.

In the morning he woke to handfuls of fresh water fish, fish of all kinds. The Old Man was pleased. And so he taught The Fox to write. Letters one day, words the next, poetry after, and soon, he penned thousands of his own extravagant tales.

When he had mastered writing, The Old Man asked for a stolen rabbit from a trap and taught him numbers; stolen fruit from wanderers and taught him about the stars; stolen bread from a bakery and he taught him to question.

The deal -- stealing and teaching -- transpired for months. The Fox fed The Old Man, and The Old Man fed The Fox.

The Fox felt something spur inside of him -- an importance, a superiority -- like a fire, ever growing as it fed, mad and dangerous and hungry.

He found a place amongst the humans he stole from, no longer able to looks his brother foxes in the eyes -- the simple creatures' eyes that were so empty and blind while his were full and bright. And even then he felt above the humans, a Teacher among students, a King among peasants, a God among his creations.

But it was never enough, The Fox wanted more.

The Old Man explained that there was a line to be crossed between his Head and his Heart and that in this pursuit he can choose only one.

"The choice is simple," exclaimed The Fox. "The Heart weighs me down, while The Head carries me ever onwards. I shall never want to stop the chase."

"And so the choice is made. I will fashion you an ornate box to hold your Heart and teach you all I know, but you must do something for me first." The Old Man sat up, "You must feed me."

"I have been feeding you," The Fox said.

The Old Man shook his head, "I need to be fed to be strong. There is a hunger in me that food cannot satisfy. You live amongst a pious people who are wanton for sin, with souls that will burn and burn black. You must feed me these souls."

The Fox hesitated. "Souls?" he asked.

"It is the only way I can be strong and the only way you can be too," The Old Man replied.

And in a single blink of an eye, The Fox agreed. The Old Man told The Fox that he wanted as many souls as his own stomach can carry; to burn them black, to consume them, and to carry them back to his cabin. There he will eat and there they will begin.

The pangs of The Fox's own hunger rang louder than the cries of his conscience, so he sneaked into the town and did as The Old Man asked. House by house, family by family, he removed the townsfolk's souls, burning them as black as the night in their own fireplaces, and then swallowed them one by one until his belly was full and nearly bursting.

He entered the cabin, proud and keen, a blaze in the pit of his stomach keeping the souls and his hunger warm. The Fox did not see The Old Man at first, not until he was caught, snatched up by his tail and pinned to the oak wood kitchen table.

The Old Man's eyes were aflame, in a manner that had matched The Fox's own -- mad and dangerous and hungry. The Old Man sliced open the poor creature's belly and devoured the souls straight from the bowl of his stomach.

The Fox heard them, heard the souls screaming in agony, heard himself screaming in agony. He was horrified, his Heart overcome with remorse, and yet he wanted his reward, his Head overcome with desire. But the souls would not stop screaming as The Old Man ate and ate and ate, his hunger never ceasing.

The Fox's Heart and Head tore in two different directions among the chaos and the torture, until The Fox himself split in two. Two Foxes -- two halves had become two wholes, but neither more whole than before. The Head and The Heart, broken and bruised with blackened souls still leaking from the tears in their bellies

The Old Man, salivated and lunged at The Foxes with such a heated fervor it frightened them. Together they grabbed an axe off the woodpile next to the fireplace and hacked off The Old Man's hands.

He bled, as black as the souls he consumed, but he did not weaken.

"Fools," he cackled. "Fated, indeed. There is new payment I seek."

Screaming smoke as black as night flooded from The Old Man's mouth and trapped The Foxes in the cabin. It ripped The Foxes' own souls from their bodies, already tainted black by sin, and put them inside an ornate box before The Old Man consumed it.

The black smoke retreated but The Foxes found that they could not flee.

The Old Man laughed, full and loud tremors that shook the old oak cabin, "Until the day your God is good and cuts your strings, you are this Old Puppeteer's finest toys -- The Devil's Hands."

To this day, The Old Man still sits by the fire, warm and unafraid, for his hungry Hands to feed him, to ward away Death's sweet kiss, until he is strong once again.

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THE END! Hope you enjoyed it, again I might make some edits someday but for now, it is what it is and I quite like what it is.

Have a lovely day and you will see my face in a video tomorrow!

SEE YA!

~ Chantille ~ 

Anxiety & The Universe

Well, hello!

I haven't written here in quite a while, so I thought it'd be interesting to share a short story I've just written. It's one-part creative outlet and another-part self-commentary -- generally, interesting. Please be kind.

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Anxiety & The Universe

by Chantille Millena

There is darkness here and stillness, but when she wakes, there are stars.

Stars so colourful, so magnificent -- a vast sea as far as the eye can see and beyond. And she is among them. She hears it here, the pounding in her ears, but it's oh so faint. Dream of your star. Reach for your star. Her star -- her magical, twinkling ball of promise, waiting for her and her alone to find it. Happiness is here and together they sing and dance for hours on the constellations. With renewed excitement, she begins the journey. She cannot see it yet and she knows it will take some time but she has a pocketful of bright, shiny dreams to keep her company.

Go forward.

The way is long and time moves too slowly. After running blindly for what feels like an eternity, she stops on the nearest moon to catch her breath. Her path is lost and her dreams grow dim. Sadness is here, fingers intertwined with Anger. They stare her down with bitter cold eyes and extinguish her pocketful of dreams entirely. She hears it here too, the pounding in her ears, and it's oh so thunderous. Give up on your star. Your star is too bright for you. She tries to move on but their taunts are magnetic, and her run soon turns into a crawl so languid her feet might have been made of the darkest molasses.

Lie still.

And then she sees it -- her star, just a tiny dot on the horizon, miles away but within sight. She tears away and reaches for it. And then she sees everything in between -- light years of endless, eternal space and time -- and she's afraid. Fear is here and it erupts into flames that roar and cackle like monsters before her. You'll never reach your star. You don't deserve your star. She pulls her fragile hands close. She isn't certain if the fires are truly there or just in her mind but she's been hurt too many times before. She wants to push past it but the blistering pain still burns in her memory. And she can do nothing. Her pocketful of stardust dreams feed the flames, growing massive, more volatile, creating a wall that obscures and swallows her little star whole.

Turn back.

She runs backwards -- back away from the flames, back past the moon, back along the constellations, and back into the dark. Here she waits, and breathes, and listens. She is alone but she doesn't hear it here, the pounding in her ears. Only a faint and thunderous nothing. There is no star. There never was a star. She no longer runs, no longer fears, no longer dreams, she simply waits. She slowly curls up and lays to rest. Blanketed in an empty peace and quiet, she finds sleep.

There is darkness here and stillness, but when she wakes, there are stars.

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 So that's it, basically. This piece is very special to me, and bittersweet because I'm proud of the product but not of the mindset it was born from. I've made a video talking about it, which you can view here:

ALSO, I posted it on HitRECord (http://www.hitrecord.org/records/1678348) for those of you who are aware of and involved with the open collaborative production company. If not, I suggest you check it out.

Until next time,

See you on the flipside.

~ Chantille ~

I Am Nick Miller

My excuse for this companion blog post having to be a 2-in-1 two weeks after the last one we'll chalk under lack of inspiration, and we'll leave it at that. Just welcome me back with open arms as I do you and it'll be an awkward hug that we'll never talk about again. Now on with the thoughts!

For those familiar with Zooey Deschanel's half-hour television comedy New Girl, you'll understand the Nick Miller reference this blog will be about, and for those who are not familiar, I will do my best to explain. If you told the characters in Season 1 how Nick Miller would be now in Season 3, they wouldn't have believed you, and neither would he. Season 1 introduced us to a thirty-year-old lazy, underachiever who was working as a bar tender after dropping out of Law School - he was a mess in decisions and in hygiene, but a good man with good intentions. By Season 3, however, the writers threw us a whirlwind character twist: Nick Miller had finished college and passed his bar exam, but chose to be a bar tender - all this time, the audience believed he didn't become a lawyer because he couldn't, but in reality he could but didn't want to. Despite his roommates previously stating they worried that Nick "won't make it in general", he has found happiness and not as a byproduct of eventuality but as a byproduct of choice, his choice.

Equally, if you had said to me in my Season 1, three years ago, that I'd be here with an active YouTube channel, with productivity I can physically see, and feeling happier and prouder of myself than I've ever been, I might not have believed you. And yet, here I am.

I had been feeling quite nostalgic lately, and I felt it appropriate to talk about that in this sort of "month in review" blog post. Some of that nostalgia I channeled in this week's video where I go though my Memory Box and regale you with sentimental/interesting/cringe-worthy stories from my past, which you can see here:

What I also found in that box that I did not mention in the video were my University rejection letters. I remember the day I got those letters in the mail, I thought that that was the end of the world, the end of all things, and I would be in ruins. But when I looked at them again, three years later, it may surprise you to hear that my first reaction was not sadness or regret, it was wonder. I was in wonder that once upon a time I thought these letters had destroyed every chance I had to be who I wanted to be, when really that was ridiculous because it hadn't. I'm not trying to downplay the severity of what those letters meant, no, it was devastating, the idea of it still is, but what I understand now is that it didn't mean that I was unintelligent, or incapable, or a failure, or that I had no other chances, it meant that at that specific moment in time that path was not the right one for me whether it was my fault or not. I've said to a friend before that "time dulls old feelings", but not because they become less important but because you move on, you grow, you change.

I found a kindred spirit in Nick Miller, maybe not so much in the sense that I do actually wash my towel and my sheets, and I'm not stubborn enough not to call a plumber when proper plumbing things need doing, but in life and fears, we were almost entirely the same. I made a bond and adopted the thought: if Nick Miller is okay with being a mess, then I can be too. An empathy for fiction, if you will, which is conveniently what I talked about in last week's video, which you can watch here:

But what New Girl did this season is reveal to us that Nick Miller is in fact not a complete mess, not anymore or maybe he never was, and I realized that I wasn't a complete mess either. I may not have figured it all out but seeing what I've accomplished and where I am now after a month, it puts into perspective the change I've made in the span of three seasons of New Girl - I moved on, I grew, and I'm happy.

So maybe I don't need to be Nick Miller anymore, maybe I no longer need the comedic parallels to comfort and assure myself, because both Nick Miller and I are going to be okay. I guess I'm hesitant to let go of the phrase, "I am Nick Miller", one because it's funny, and two because the plaid-wearing man-child with a distrust of fish and banks will forever hold a place in my heart, but I have to make sure I don't judge my successes and failures on the basis of a person who isn't real, who isn't me. Nick Miller in all his social ineptitude can be my spirit animal, but in entirety, I am Chantille Millena (I will now allot a second or two to note our similar surnames, Miller & Millena, and my absolute lack of a love like Jessica Day, which gives the fictional man a one-up on me, but at least I can choose to poop if I want/have to, not because some overlords wrote that I did. Privacy, at least I have that). I will have many more seasons ahead of me, even if New Girl does not - although I sincerely hope they never ever get cancelled. Ever.

If you haven't watched New Girl, I highly recommend it. It's on, coincidentally, every TUESDAY on FOX or CityTV, or I'm sure you can find it somewhere on the internet - you're all savvy kids. It is hilarious, every character is loveable and quotable, and the stories have a lot of heart.

I hope you all have had a fantastic couple of weeks! It's still cold everywhere, I still haven't won a car from Tim Horton's Roll-Up The Rim, but I have attempted to sort out the shame of clothes and miscellaneous things I keep hidden in my closet - attempted, being the key word.

Peace out 'til Tuesday, yo!

(^please forgive me)

~ Chantille ~

The Temptations

Let me be the first (and/or only) to say congratulations to myself for accomplishing this week's Tuesday video deadline without a sweat on my just-did brow!

- gratuitous bow for fake applause -
- sings along to Lady Gaga's "Applause" - 

This week I talk about love and bubbles, and burp at the end. Classy.

As for making my blog post deadline... well. My computer does this thing where it goes back and forth between being connected and disconnected to our WiFi - I described it once as being a Complicated relationship, and it's complicated often so my computer must be an Aquarius. This was one of those occasions so I couldn't log onto my Blogger to write and publish a Thursday post.

That's an excuse, the excuse, and I apologize but to be honest I wouldn't call it a complete loss. For the past few days I didn't know what I wanted to write about and I worried that it would read too lackluster because I would have to induce word-vomit in order to meet a deadline - and word-vomit, like any vomit, is messy. Real messy. I don't foresee my video quality suffering because of the Tuesday deadline, but I feel it's fair to be a little bit more lenient about my blog deadline. In the end it's quality, not quantity.

Anyway, I have been thinking quite a bit on the topic of Destiny and Choice and the implications of those on myself as a Hero. When I say "hero" I don't mean the muscly and manly genre akin to Hercules or Solid Snake - for I have neither the physicality nor the persona to be muscly or manly - but rather, the archetypal protagonist in a classic story. Joseph Campbell's Monomyth Cycle is a pattern that all stories tend to follow, a journey in steps that all heroes travel, and in the vein of destiny and choice there is the Temptress, luring the hero away towards a fate off the straight-and-narrow with her feminine wiles.

As the hero in my story, I found myself tempted from my path - mine and many other people's temptress is money. If Luck be a Lady tonight, then Fortune be a Lady of the Night, every night.

The decision to start a YouTube channel and focus on writing my book was made and was being carried out well before my birthday. But in a sudden turn of events, my Temptress came knocking on my door a week before I was to film my first video with an offer - a career opportunity for myself and my parents, in the world of business. Had the offer come to me a year ago, hell if I'm honest even just a couple of months before, I would have jumped on the train immediately without a second thought because quite simply, I needed the money and something to do. But after years of fear and indecision I finally made a choice for myself, and I'd be damned if I didn't go through with it.

It was difficult to turn down the offer; I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider it positively and almost wholly: the money, the security, the empowerment, the money. Their offer would be perfect if all I was looking for was really, really great money. However, I had made my decision, so I said no.

Of course, there is a small part of me that worries and wonders if I did right by saying no, but what I've realized in these past three weeks is that the hokey-pokey isn't what it's all about and neither is money. I started making videos, writing this blog and my book to grow and find happiness where I find I'm most passionate. I did it for me and for no one and nothing else; that's phrased a bit selfishly but it's okay to be when it's about finding happiness for yourself. I just want to believe that I'm okay and actually be okay, and to follow my dreams so that one day, when I find my sunshine I can go on to do bigger and better things that gives the world as much of that sunshine as I can possibly share.

People I am inspired by like Markiplier (Mark Fischbach) and John Green (of the Vlog Brothers), started out following a path towards their happiness that they have managed to find and now they continue down that path to cultivate even more happiness for the rest of the world, all through doing what they love and being good people. That is something to aspire to.

I know I'm venting and that money is important, but unless you're arguing for lack of stability and thus sanity, it isn't the be all end all, shining star of the world. For example, the argument for my parents is in better alignment for this: they are getting quite close to the age of retirement and are no where near ready for it, with bills upon bills to pay and four kids to support; but not only do they need it, they love it too, they are passionate about the work they get to do together and that is their added bonus. Myself, however, am not in the same lane of necessity.

I just turned 21, I don't have kids to support, retirement is still twice my lifetime away, and I'm not drowning in debt, so money is not important to me right now. All I want to do is what makes me happy, and if that includes doing this and working a part-time job then so be it, at least I know my heart is as deeply invested in it as it can be and that makes it worthwhile.

I'm aware that if my plan goes spiraling as violently as a Kansas twister, I'll have to reposition myself so as the house doesn't crush me to death and a war break out over a pair of ruby slippers. I know how hard the path is ahead of me - after finishing the book comes the trials and tribulations of getting it published, and gaining an audience on YouTube is as hard as voicing complaints about Sochi accommodations in a sea of complaints about Sochi accommodations (c'mon with it though, Russia!) - but I've only just begun, I have to give myself the chance to grow and the chance to succeed, and I'd be million times more satisfied if that was through a conscious choice I made for myself and not one that was made for me.

We may not be entirely able to choose our fate but we are able to choose our paths and ourselves. I'm proud of myself and I'm closer to believing it than I've ever been, so this feels as right as it can be.

And I guess that's it, Blog Faces - a little late, a little long, and a little livid, but hey, I had a lot of feels, it's only human; we get them every now and again and sometimes it makes us sweaty, kind of like watching the Olympics (GO CANADA!) but it's healthy to let them out, even if no one else is reading.

I'm going to treat myself to a short round of Pokemon and an episode of My Mad Fat Diary (because Finn, just FINN, am I right? Unf), then it's back to writing.

Tuesday is a... News-day? Lose-day? Shoes-day.

I'll see you Tuesday.

~ Chantille ~

These Lines Are Dead, Jim

So about last week when I said you'd see my Blogger Face sooner than my YouTube Face, um, right, well I guess it's fair to say that I lied. Feel free to accuse me, berate me, throw tomatoes at me, unless no one's reading this blog anyway, in which case...
          - cough, cough -
          - nudge, nudge -
          - bucket of ice water over the head -
          - barrel full of monkeys -
          - I REGRET NOTHING -   

But I'm here now so, HELLO!

To be honest, I've never quite had a perfect relationship with deadlines; they are as handsome as they are intimidating and I acknowledge their existence but either I fail to remember or I simply denounce their significance. In my life I've managed to unintentionally liberate at least three or four books from school libraries, including two Grade 12 textbooks, because I put off thinking about what needed to be done, which then turned into forgetfulness, and suddenly OOPS - free book(s). A beneficial turn of events I'm not entirely proud of, but to be fair, it's been several years anyway so I'm sure they don't care enough now to miss them.

City libraries, however, are much less lenient towards deadline aversion. If I'm at all notorious, I'd be: City's Most Wanted for Overdue Library Books, with all the stops: Wanted Posters with a sketch by inaccurate witness descriptions and televised Public Announcements warning readers of the safety of our National Treasures. They take this stuff SRSLY. I've certainly received a ridiculous share of overdue bills (*paid in full, JUST SAYING) and letters explaining the severity of over-keeping books and the SWAT-Team-Equivalent that would arrive to claim them back into custody should it be necessary. Though I've managed to stay incognito for the last two years - since starting work allotted the expendable funds to purchase my own books - I have gone back, twice, and both times I was wrought with a paranoia that the moment I stepped in or swiped my card there would be a Red Alert: lock-down, flashing lights, I'd have to take a mug shot and wear orange.

And while this all seems melodramatic (we acknowledge that the Paperback Police doesn't actually exist) this is what missing deadlines feels like: the sickening wrench in your gut, the panic rising in your chest and the racing thoughts of when you've foolishly left your essay to the last minute and you're up trying to connect the dots two hours before you're meant to hand it in. Deadlines aren't friendly and are so aptly named in insinuating their finality, like in a way, if that line is crossed and you aren't prepared, you and/or whatever you are cultivating will not survive!

I took it upon myself to make a goal for weekly videos, the deadline being every Tuesday before the end of the day, but I severely underestimated how much time I would need to do this week's. I was not as prepared as I would have liked, leaving me with 90 minutes of that unpreparedness to sift through and edit, and on top of that I started editing a little later in the day than I should have, so in the end it was live an hour before Tuesday was over. I had just made my deadline.

But, hey, I'm proud of the video regardless of the nightmare editing, and that's A point. In parts it was fun to film, so I sincerely hope it is/was just as fun to watch. 

Here is said video where I answer questions from my "Q&A a Day" Journal:

THE point is that while deadlines are as looming and as mean as Professor Umbridge, they are in place to positively encourage the accomplishment of set goals, unlike Professor Umbridge (nailed it). So I need to make a truce with my deadlines, maybe take them out on a candlelight dinner on the beach and whisper sweet nothings that acknowledge not only their existence but also their importance to myself and my endeavor to be more productive.

Starting this week we'll aim for the video to be uploaded by early evening on Tuesday and the companion blog to be published by Thursday. I will be victorious this time around - the deadline will not murder me, I will murder the deadline... and then take it out to dinner? Have it for dinner? Okay Hannibal Lecter, talk about morbid.

That's this week's schtick. Are you all having/have had a good day? I've been really busy this week, but I feel good! I feel sunny - I've got sunshine on a cloudy day, something, something about the month of May, except it's still February. How many weeks left do we have of Winter now? Too many? Too many. Here, have a bit of my sunshine, unless you live in Florida or California then ya'll got enough sunshine - share some with us please.

Until Tuesday!

~ Chantille ~

It's About Time

It took me almost three years to paint my room, or rather it took me almost three years to stop talking about painting my room and actually do it. "I'll do it next week... Next month... Next season..." Putting it off and putting it off again. Exhibit A of inaction caused by Character Flaw 3: Indecision. Equally, though by a much more complex catalyst, it took almost three years to make an active decision for myself as far as what I wanted to do with my life.

No one knows truly knows what they want to do after leaving high school, you just follow a path you laid out for yourself before-hand, but when that path is no longer available to you - by choice or not - you need to decide where to go next. Every time I tried to take a step down a new path, three things popped into my mind:

       Am I ready?
       Is this right?
       I am terrified.

Closer to the date that I would have to act on that decision I would have anxiety that grows in gravity, in severity, and it's all I can do not to run in the opposite direction. I am a perfectionist with fragile self-confidence, I worry that myself or my work aren't good enough and worry again that other people think even less. That kind of anxiety is dangerous because it breeds indecision, which then breeds inaction and before I know it it's been a week, a month, a year and it's all still just an idea in my head - still a decision that hasn't been made.

I am at heart a lover of storytelling. I am a reader. I've indulged myself in stories, have lived and have found happiness in worlds and minds that are not my own. Although, what I also am but haven't shown is that I am a writer; to my very core I am too a storyteller in my own right, with stories - both fictional and non-fictional - that I've only ever kept to myself. My fear has kept me from being who I want to be and from doing what I want to do. But like John Hurt as the War Doctor said: "NO MORE".

I made a decision, and this is that decision:

The other decision I made, you're reading right now. Think of this blog as a "Companion Guide" to my videos as well as a less-compacted glimpse into the dynamic waves of my brain-box. And through these two platforms I can share my life, my thoughts and my dreams; things I've learned, things I'm still learning; and most of all, my creations: music (covers and originals), short stories, short films, and updates about the novel I'm writing.

This year's resolution is "Fearlessness and Productivity" - to stop letting fear get in the way of accomplishing goals I've set for myself. That's not to say that doing that video or writing this blog isn't scary or that I'm not worrying over them being exactly what I want them to be, but the fact that it IS scary and I AM worrying and I managed to put up the video and make this blog anyway, shows a great deal of growth.

One of my best friends, said to me last week: "We need to embrace our flaws, or else we end up hating ourselves for them". It's true. It's being aware of and accepting your flaws in order to grow. 

       1. Perfectionism,
       2. Lack of Self-Confidence,
       3. Fear & Indecision,
       4. Internalization.

As the Hero in my Life Story, these are my Character Flaws. I've always been aware of them but it's only now that I'm embracing them, to learn from them, to rise above them, and that video and this blog are proof that I am trying.

I've been lucky though. For every moment I doubted myself the world reminded me that I had family and friends who love me, support me, and most of all are patient with me, and I could never thank them enough. But I was my greatest obstacle, my worst enemy, my harshest critic. I had to learn to believe in myself. I had to soak in that juicy sunlight of opportunity. I had to turn it into delicious passion and motivation. And now I have to use that to grow into the best person I can be. I have to be my biggest fan first.

It wasn't easy for me, hell it took three years to figure this all out, and it still isn't always easy, but the point is to try. I painted my room, I started writing my book, I started my YouTube channel and blog, I want to see what I can maintain and what else I can start. I've always wanted to make something bigger than myself but it starts with me and with a little help. So if you're still reading this, have seen my video, and enjoy what I've done and want to support me then I thank you, truly, with all of my heart. 

Anyway, I'm off to continue making the most out of my unexpected day off. You'll see my YouTube Face again on Tuesday and maybe more Blogger Face sooner than that! I promise. Have a lovely day!

~ Chantille ~