Gysela lay on the balcony of her H-O-M-E sweet H-O-M-E thumbing through the pages of Latina Magazine. A headhunter had called because she had been recommended for the Deputy Editor position. It was a golden opportunity and Gysela decides to put all her focus and energy into her application. Her assignment is the rearrange the pages of the magazine.

As she begins writing out her recommendations to move all the best content to the front and the ads to the back, similar to an alternative weekly, the winds of Hurricane Katrina are beginning to rustle the palm fronds outside her balcony. It’s her first time being a homeowner in a hurricane.

“The building has been here since 1964, and I’m on the second floor, so I should be OK,” she tells mami on the phone. “I’m just going to close the shutters and stay here for the storm.”
She hangs up the phone and looks around. She doesn’t have jugs of water. She doesn’t have food stocked up in the kitchen. The phone rings. It’s Clutch.

“Come to my mom’s house,” he says.

“No, I want to be in my own house,” she says. “Why don’t you come here?”

“You don’t have anything there.”

“I’m here! What are you talking about?”

“Just come over here. My parents have the generator and we can watch movies until the power goes out.”

It sounds much more cozy than being alone. She reluctantly packs an overnight bag and drives down to Coconut Grove, the house where she first met Sol and Clutch. She walks into his bedroom on the second floor, the same room where she first met Clutch, and now, here she was, his girlfriend. The universe suddenly seemed flipped upside down.

“So, I decided to change my name,” Clutch says, sitting at his computer, creating a logo for the Devil’s new company.

“Really,” the Devil says deadpan.

“Kiro Ace.”

“Sounds Japanese.”

“Yeah, that’s why I liked it. If you need a graphic designer, you’re gonna want the guy who sounds Japanese.”

“But you’re not Japanese.”

“So. The combination of letters is more harmonious for my birthpath according to Kabalarians.com.”

“Whatever.”

“I got you an early birthday present,” he says, strategically bringing her attention back. He hands over a packet of papers. “You can pick a new name too.”

“My name is perfectly fine and my life is perfectly fine so don’t tell me this new name is going to make it even more perfect and fine,” she replies.

He looks at her with his “you are such a child” expression and reiterates: “You have mood swings. You aren’t very nice. In fact, you’re kind of a bitch – not to me of course, but you told me yourself how many friends you once had that now hate you.”

“They don’t hate me,” she pouts. “We just have different opinions.”

“Well don’t you want to improve on that ‘perfection?’”

“Whatever,” she says dismissively and turns back to her computer. The words she is expected to edit on the screen make less sense than…Kiro. What a dumb name. He’s such a self-improvement obsessed freak, she thinks to herself. And then it dawns on her. She is a bitch!

Here she is, calling him names in her mind when she’s supposed to love him. She is starting to get it. He got it a long time ago – five years to be exact. As she thinks about Clutch…uh, Kiro, sick and emaciated with cancer, she softens.

“Kemilaaaaaa,” he sings.

And it stuck.

So she followed her new leader, Kiro Ace, and became Kemila Velan, thus transforming fully into the Fairy that was gestating for 9 months inside the belly of the torrid threesome love affair, and emerging full grown from the head of the threesome household: Clutch, ahem, Kiro Ace.

"I always wanted a hot girlfriend who teaches yoga," Kiro said to his dream girl, who he drew so often in his bedroom, that now here she was, materialized before his very eyes.

"This is the bed I shared with Sol," said Kiro as he pulled back the black curtains to reveal a lair of phantom love.

"Maybe we should sleep in the other room," said Kemila apprehensively.

"This one is much more comfortable," Kiro insisted. "When I had cancer, this bed gave me great comfort."

"Well, if you want to sleep here, sure."

That's usually how it went - whatever Kiro wanted to do, Kemila wanted to do. She was the

Green Fairy who wanted to please him. “Thumbelina, Thumbelina, yes, that’s me,” she hummed to herself. Kemila did not know that Thumbelina’s wings are clipped in the lair of wolves.

It took a while to fall asleep, and when she finally did, she awoke in the middle of the night crying:

"Boob Tube! Boob Tube! Boob Tube!"

After absorbing the radioactive energy of the cancerous bed, she closed her eyes and they were no longer on her face.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she squealed in pain.

"It's OK, it's OK," said Kiro, stroking her arm and cupping a hand around her right breast, which was glowing green.

His eyes were still closed and he could not see. She lay on her back panicked, but unable to say a word. Kemila, who had never been at a loss for words, was now suddenly blind and mute.

The process of metamorphosis had taken over and there was no turning back. She was now Kemila, an appendage of Kiro, only able to express herself through his filters.

He was a dream in the beginning. Listened to Kemila. Flowers, Incense. Yoga. Adventures. She was receptive to his opinions. He calmed her down when she was feeling weird. He always had something smart or rational to say. He made plenty sense, and Kemila felt free to be herself without Sol watching or judging her. When Kiro made suggestions to do something crazy Kemila went right along with it. He was the instigator she had been wanting.

What now?

Who was Kemila Velan?

And who did she want to be?

She enrolled herself and Kiro in a yoga teacher training at the MyAmi Yogashala. It is here that she began discovering her superhero powers. She cultivated qi. She flexed her body without realizing her mind was following. She learned about the philosophy of non-dualism where everything is relative, nothing is absolute and there is no such thing as "good" or "bad." They were answering all the questions she had when she was a Gypsy at the Christian College. Her mind was being freed from the oppression of her strict Pentecostal Christian upbringing.

The new philosophy seemed all well and good outside of context.

For extra emphasis, Kemila told Kiro she wanted to travel to India. They went a month after graduating from yoga teacher training. She wanted to know more about the land, culture and people that developed this way of life so different from what she knew all 30 years of her life.

For a month, she traveled with her partner yogi, Kiro Ace, throughout southern India on second class trains, rickshaws, Ambassador taxi cabs and her bare feet on the sands of Goa.

While she argued with Kiro, who was controlling, obsessed with taking pictures even in sacred places, and impossible to communicate with, she uploaded the energies and sensibilities of this subcontinent to her already crammed tight brain full of previous travels to Central America, the continental US, Europe and Thailand.