KashiaExplores: Tales of Discovery

If I had many lives to choose from, and in one of them, my knees were strong, never knowing the pain of dislocation, I would become a dancer. Then, a singer. And after that, an actress. Each day, I’d step into a new set of clothes, dressing like the world was my stage. My voice would carry, not just in sound, but in depth, and when I spoke, people would listen. With every word, I’d speak with elegance and wisdom, and millions would admire what I had to say.

Through the roles I played in films, I would touch hearts. Some, I’d move with tenderness, reaching into the quiet corners of their souls. Others, I’d seduce with a glance, breaking through even the coldest, hardest shells. In this life, I’d live without a family of my own, instead sharing pieces of myself with different partners over time. They would teach me. One might show me the rhythm of tap dance, another the discipline of martial arts, another the beauty of the French language. I would learn fast, with a mind that memorized without struggle. Writing books would come to me as naturally as breathing. And I’d have a father—wealthy, yes, but more than that, devoted. He’d see me for who I was and who I could be, investing in my early years, always believing in me.

Though famous, my home would be in the countryside, where I’d live with dogs, cats, and maybe even parrots. One day a week, I’d visit a local school, offering free oratory classes to children who’d never known confidence or courage in their homes. I’d build a school for them, these kids from troubled families, and I’d be more than a teacher—I’d be a patron, lifting them up where no one else could.

In another life, I’d have golden skin, long blonde hair wavy from the salt and wind. I’d live on the beach, taming the monstrous waves that others would only dare to watch from the shore. I’d start my own surf school, design a line of clothing that carried the spirit of the sea. People would stop to marvel, not just at the waves, but at the girl who rode them, fearless and free.

In the third life, I would be the mother of five children, with a loving husband by my side. When he went to work, I’d care for our children, but that wouldn’t be all. I’d still chase my passion, working with my hands, crafting and designing, creating something of my own. I’d be part of a village, surrounded by women just like me—women with vision and strength. Together, we’d shape the village into a place built for sustainable, healthy living, a village where every choice mattered, and every action made sense.

In our village, the families would be of every race, and we’d share the weight of raising our children. We’d rely on each other, taking turns, not just in childcare, but in every part of our lives. With the help of AI, we’d craft a schedule that balanced our work, our families, and our passions. Our work wouldn’t be just a job—it would be an extension of who we were. The offices, warehouses, and studios where we created, all close to home, close to the heart.

Women would lead in this world. There would be subsidies to encourage female entrepreneurs, but more than that, entrepreneurship would thrive among women because they had a way of leading that men often didn’t—an intuition, a sharp emotional intelligence. They were natural leaders, just as Queen Elizabeth II served her people, always seeing the greater good over personal ambition.

Our children would grow up differently. There would be no janitors in their schools, no one to clean up after them. From a young age, they’d learn to take care of themselves, to clean their homes and their classrooms, to sew their clothes and cook their meals. By four, they’d be learning these skills. They would know the value of working with their hands, of independence. In time, this independence would free the women—free us to follow our dreams, knowing our children could stand on their own.

Trust and love would weave through every corner of our village. The people there wouldn’t just live side by side, they’d believe in each other. They’d help each other. And in that trust, we’d all find our strength.