Hello, I am Cyndi. I'm 15 years old, and I have been drawing all my remembered life, going all the way back to a cookie tin full of crayons and used printer paper. ^.^ Good old days, those were.

I picked up fantasy when I was about 9 (love of: horses--> unicorns--> basic fantasy stuff), and it kind of grew off of that, until I became a strange, artistic, fantasy-freak fanatic. And I wouldn't have it any other way. ^___^ It seems to me that too many people are interested in following fads. Even goth kids have their fads to follow. Nice to know I'm interested in something that sets me apart, even when there's a huge community of people like this interested in the same thing. ^^

Besides drawing, I also love singing, writing, and songwriting. I'm learning to speak Spanish, and how to play guitar and piano, and I've always loved reading. I USED to ride horses, but lessons have been put on pause, for the moment being. I'm also a literate roleplayer (in case you're interested). 

You can also find me hiking back trails, climbing trees, swimming in creeks, not paying much attention in school, and singing or humming wherever I go, particularly in front of the bathroom mirror. ^.^

Oh, and I also like little kid's movies. Especially Beauty and the Beast, and The Lion King. I've never been one for scary movies, and never EVER gory movies. I like action movies, too. *tries to think of some* Independence Day, War of the Worlds, Stealth, yada yada. My FAVORITE movie of the past year (or of all time... not quite sure) was The Chronicles of Narnia. Loved it, loved it, loved it. ^^


This is a little vent, created when I was mad at people in high school, and some people in general. Figured I'd try sharing it with the world, and see what you all think. Happy to hear comments on it.

Hey, I’m only human.
I still have to eat, sleep on occasion. Still have to do what other people ask of me, and far too often without complaint.
I’m not the only one who dreams about the kind of kiss that sends butterflies and fireworks through my body like lightning.
But I’m some kind of dreamer, too, and sometimes it sets me apart more than I can bear.
My parents brag about me being different. At least it seems like bragging.
Is it really worth bragging about? Sometimes, I’d much rather be like everyone around me.
The cashier at the Chinese buffet tells my peacock parents that they have a beautiful daughter. I just smile graciously and concentrate very hard on my laces, so she won’t see my face flush pink.
Am I beautiful? I certainly don’t know. A few features in the right place, I guess; does that count as beautiful?
I don’t feel like it.
Sometimes, I feel large and heavy, and I move without grace.
Other times, I feel broad-shouldered and awkward, and I walk with my shoulders hunched forward so I won’t be noticed.
And that’s supposed to be “beautiful?” Never trust cashiers. Or parents.
I’m some kind of dreamer, sure, and I’d like to think that I can be above the stupid little, superficial doubts that girl have.
But hey, I’m only human.
Those other girls, they cover their doubts with a wax coating.
With their make-up, loud laughs, and cheap boyfriends. Trendy clothes and too much jewelry. Straighteners, highlights. Fake tans, heels. Bottle blondes and being skinny. Drugs. Drink. Highs. Dirty jokes and dirtier parties.
And along with the rest of the unsure world, they surround themselves with friends they don’t love, and hide their favorite CDs because their acquaintances might disapprove.
I’m some kind of dreamer, and only human.
I can’t be the independent, strong, screw-the-world fairy-tale heroine I’d like to wish I was.
But dreamers have their ideals. They still want to find some spiraling staircase, and climb their way above the masses. Still want to be better than, more than, the people near them, because they want to make their dreams tangible things.
I don’t think I’m beautiful. But I looked outside of dream world a few years too late.
I couldn’t blend in with the porcelain dolls clumped in the hallway, mass-produced by their middle school uncertainties.
So while I still feel as unsure as the little girls past those painted faces and crude laughing, I climbed way apart from them.
I don’t have time to wear make-up like cake icing. My hair is too long, too thick, tio stripe, iron, and tie up behind me.
And yet, I won’t wake up early to line my eyes.
I’m too busy staying up late, talking with friends I love, and reading books that let me, if for a while, become a character worthy of a dreamer’s dreams.
I won’t cut my hair.
It sets me apart. It shines and fluffs out when I brush it, and it gives me an excuse to slip in to my façade.
My feet are too wide for heels, so I gave up worrying about my shoes.
I try and stand out in clumped hallways.
I try and love my friends. To be purer than the middle-school leftovers with their dirty jokes and inconsiderate politeness.
To laugh hard and freely, but not loud.
I couldn’t be a heroine.
But I could be a dreamer of some kind.
And hey, I’m only human.


A girl and guy were speeding, on a motorcycle, over 90 mph on the road..


Girl: Slow down. I’m scared.


Guy: No, this is fun.


Girl: No, it’s not. Please, it’s too scary!


Guy: Then tell me you love me.


Girl: Fine, I love you. Slow down!


Guy: Now give me a BIG hug.


*Girl hugs him*


Guy: Can you take my helmet off & put it on yourself? It’s bugging me.


(In the paper the next day)


A motorcycle crashed into a building because of break failure. Two people were on it, but only one survived. The truth was that halfway down the road, the guy realized that his
breaks broke, but he didn’t want to let the girl know. Instead, he had her say she loved
him & felt her hug one last time, then had her wear his helmet so that she would live even
though it meant that he would die.


*if u luv sum1 this much.. put it on ur page

I saw this on someone's page, and just had to put it on mine. Kinda makes you wish someone loves you this much, huh? And if someone does, be grateful, and feel blessed.