Magical Journeys YouTube is a popular channel on the video-sharing platform that focuses on providing its viewers with entertaining and enchanting content. This channel takes its audience on virtual journeys to various places around the world, showcasing the beauty and magic that each destination has to offer. From breathtaking landscapes and architectural wonders to cultural experiences and thrilling adventures, Magical Journeys YouTube aims to transport its viewers to different parts of the globe from the comfort of their own homes. Through high-quality videos and visually stunning footage, this channel captures the essence of each location, allowing viewers to immerse themselves in the sights and sounds of these magical places. Whether it's exploring ancient ruins in Machu Picchu, strolling along the canals of Venice, or witnessing the stunning Northern Lights in Iceland, Magical Journeys YouTube aims to bring the world's wonders to the screens of its viewers. In addition to its focus on travel and exploration, this channel also provides informative and educational content.
As I stirred the mixture together with my own finger, I realized that this concoction was the red "lipstick" she wore every day. I was impressed by her creativity, her magic. But I also felt tricked.
We might believe that the seat of speech without considering ventriloquists and flatulists has no need for the assistance of hand gestures when it comes to expressing emotions and sensations. 38 with fingers spread, to wave one s hand in front of one s mouth as if to fan it A way of indicating that a dish is too hot or too spicy and is burning one s mouth.
In addition to its focus on travel and exploration, this channel also provides informative and educational content. Viewers can learn about the history, culture, and traditions of different countries, gaining a deeper understanding of the destinations featured in the videos. This combination of entertainment and education makes Magical Journeys YouTube a popular choice for individuals who are curious about the world and eager to expand their knowledge.
Touching lips with the witch
By Katie Bennett
Illustration by Vera Blossom
Gwen swept through the hall of our middle school in a long black cape. She'd flipped up its hood, and the way it framed her pale face made her skin glow royally. She was both Queen and King, stomping commandingly in her knee-high combat boots. She didn't look at any of us, but straight ahead, shoulders set. She wore red lipstick like a woman.
Everyone cleared a path. Boys covered their mouths to muffle their laughing (at least the more polite ones did). I remember pressing my shoulder blades into the wall to get away from her. But my neck jutted out to take a closer look.
The day before she had simply been "Gwen," the large girl in faded Gap jeans and a pale pink T-shirt. Even though she towered over us, we barely noticed her. Her skin blended into the ceiling. Now she was "Gwendolynne," as I'd soon learn through poetry club. The name reminded me of medieval women in long velvet dresses who wore crowns made of bramble. Beautiful women, faces lit by a hearth. But also deeply sad women, dying in childbirth or locked in a tower. History that, if touched, would prick my finger, like Sleeping Beauty. Gwendolynne, a living fairytale in Mullica Hill, New Jersey.
I was 11, a newly-minted middle-schooler. I wore boys’ jeans that my dad bought me in packs of three from Costco and eggplant-colored turtlenecks from L.L. Bean. Yet I wanted to be pretty, like Lizzie McGuire or Liv Tyler. I just didn't know how. I sometimes wore my mom's silver hoop earrings and gold scrunchie. I sometimes applied sparkly pink lip gloss from CVS, even though a minute later I'd accidentally lick my lips and eat the bitter, strawberry-flavored goo. I noticed the older girls, the seventh and eighth graders, in their tight camis, cream-colored like their skin, with a built-in bra that created a shelf out of their small breasts. I noticed the way boys leaned toward them, almost to the point of falling.
Gwendolynne, an eighth grader, was not one of those girls. She wrote in her velvet purple diary while leaning against her metal locker. Her face was stoic, set, yet it would crack open with light as she laughed with her group of girlfriends. Those times I’d smile, too, but then I'd catch myself and hurry down the hallway.
Poetry club met after lunch on Fridays. The teacher who led it wore a gold hoop earring and had colorful Grateful Dead bear tattoos on his forearm, below the sleeve of his rolled-up plaid shirt. We called him "Teacher Chris" (it was a Quaker school, and we addressed all of our teachers by their first names). Teacher Chris let us sit on the tables and listen to our CD players and chat. But we worked, too, because we wanted to, heads bent over our spiral Mead notebooks. For inspiration we’d peek out the window at the nearby Quaker cemetery. We’d watch the leaves fall wetly onto the gravestones.
My friends and I sat at our own table, Gwendolynne and her friends at another. But after a few months the groups melded together, because despite our slight age difference, we were all the same in important ways. Our bodies were larger and more curved than the girls in the tan camis. We were more turned toward each other than toward boys. And we carried diaries rather than purses.
Maybe I asked Gwendolynne about her cape, but one day she told me about her religion, Wicca. "People think it's scary but it's really about nature and plants and stuff." She said Wiccans proudly referred to themselves as "witches," but they didn't ride broomsticks or put curses on people.
Up close I noticed she had little hairs, almost see-through, on her cheeks, and a dot of lipstick on her tooth. Her necklace, a large pointy pentagram, dangled ominously from a black string.
I was more interested in listening to her than I was the pastor of my church, an old man droning on about men named Matthew and Paul and Job. I wanted to sit under the trees at night like Gwendolynne said she did. I wanted to light candles and tell them my dreams.
Her poems were the best in our school. My favorite of hers was "Sonnet #9,832," which opened with the lines: I did not hear the cry of soaring birds/ And yet I felt their presence in my heart. I imagined a little blue bird nestled safely in the pink tissue of her heart. I imagined it singing a private song for her. And this bird is why she didn't crack when boys made fart noises as she walked past, and hardly flinched the time a second grader screamed from fear while looking at her.
I was beginning to gain a reputation as a real poet myself, after Teacher Chris read my poem inspired by The Outsiders at assembly. Gold chips off quickly/ Soon it will all be chipped off and the adult will be fully/ Exposed. After he read that, Gwendolynne was even nicer to me.
One day she invited me over to her house, and I accepted eagerly, honored to be picked. But afterwards, I walked through the hallway and came across Alexa and Charlie. I somehow knew they'd been dating for about a week (even though we didn't talk) and that it was serious. Alexa wore a ribbed white tank top known as a "wife beater," and her jeans were so low-slung that I could see a strip of her bare skin stretching all the way around her midriff, like a peach-colored belt. Charlie shoved her against the water fountain as they made out. My chest ached and my skin itched. Suddenly it was clear to me that I wanted my own heated moment, that I wanted to be ravished and bewitched. And that I would need to show my stomach, or my shoulders through the straps of a tan cami. I’d need to be one of “those” girls.
I yanked at the collar of my turtleneck, ran my hands through my hair, and applied more strawberry lip gloss. I thought of Gwendolynne's invitation, regretfully.
When my mom pulled up in front of Gwendolynne's house, I was disappointed to see that it was a normal development house like mine. I expected a witch to live somewhere old and dark, with a rusted weathervane on the pointed roof and gargoyles leering above the entrances. Her house had tan siding and a tricycle tipped on its side in the grassy front yard.
Inside, Gwendolynne's young twin siblings were screaming and clinging to her mother's hip. Her mother looked just like her, but was wearing a pantsuit post-work and no makeup. And she was larger than Gwendolynne in every way, her long blond hair hanging almost to her butt, her feet making the ground rumble with each step. I thought, anxiously, So this is the woman she will become.
Gwendolynne had prepared an activity. On the kitchen counter sat a jar of Vaseline, a packet of Kool-Aid, two small bowls, and two tiny plastic containers with screw-off lids. She said we were going to make lipstick. With her bare finger she scooped a wad of Vaseline into my bowl, then sprinkled half the Kool-Aid packet on top of it.
As I stirred the mixture together with my own finger, I realized that this concoction was the red "lipstick" she wore every day. I was impressed by her creativity, her magic. But I also felt tricked.
Gwendolynne graduated 8th grade and went on to a Catholic high school. I pictured her in a uniform, her skirt hanging dutifully to her knees, her starched white shirt buttoned to her chin. It made me unbearably sad. I thought of the last lines of "Sonnet #9,832": I stood in awe and sadly watched them leave / And now I only wish they'd taken me.
The next year Teacher Chris said he'd heard from Gwendolynne, and that she was still writing "darn good" poems. I felt the old twinge of jealousy, of healthy competition. I wrote in my diary every night. I wrote ten poems a day, poems about slipping down a tube, plastic jewelry, and hoping for a peaceful end to the war in Iraq.
In high school I wore thick black eyeliner and Doc Martens. I stomped through the halls, thinking of Gwendolynne in her own boots. I told myself I didn’t care if a prep school boy picked me, but I was still crushed when I wasn’t asked to prom.
I prayed for my own blue bird. I thought of Gwendolynne, murmuring to herself by her locker, “like a crazy person.” But I'd always wanted to know what she was saying.
Katie Bennett is a writer and musician from West Philly. She’s a mentor for PEN America’s Prison and Justice Writing Program and she writes a monthly newsletter about personal ghosts, feminist lit, and creative process. You can follow her on Instagram @katiepbennett.
Moreover, Magical Journeys YouTube offers a sense of escapism and relaxation. In a world where many people are unable to travel due to various limitations, this channel allows viewers to momentarily escape from their everyday lives and be transported to far-off places. The soothing music and breathtaking visuals create a tranquil and serene atmosphere, providing a much-needed respite from the stresses of daily life. Overall, Magical Journeys YouTube is a channel that delivers on its promise to take viewers on magical and captivating journeys around the world. With its visually stunning videos, informative content, and relaxing atmosphere, this channel offers a unique and enjoyable viewing experience for travel enthusiasts and anyone seeking an escape from reality..
Reviews for "Tales of Transformation: YouTube's Magical Journeys that Inspire"
1. Sarah - 2 out of 5 stars - I found the content on Magical Journeys YouTube to be very repetitive and unoriginal. The videos all seemed to follow the same formula, with no new or exciting ideas presented. Additionally, the editing was quite poor, with choppy transitions and inconsistent audio quality. Overall, I was disappointed with the lack of creativity and effort put into this channel.
2. Mark - 1 out of 5 stars - I can't believe the amount of clickbait titles and thumbnails on Magical Journeys YouTube. It's clear that they are more interested in getting views and subscribers than actually providing valuable content. The videos themselves were also very low quality, with blurry visuals and annoying background music. I wouldn't recommend wasting your time on this channel.
3. Emma - 2 out of 5 stars - Magical Journeys YouTube had potential, but it fell short for me. The host's voice was irritating and lacked enthusiasm, making it difficult to stay engaged. The topics covered were also quite dull and uninspiring. I was hoping for more exciting and informative videos, but unfortunately, I didn't find what I was looking for here.
4. David - 1 out of 5 stars - This channel is a complete waste of time. The content is poorly researched and lacks any depth or substance. It feels like they rushed to put out videos without putting much thought into the topics or information presented. The production quality is abysmal as well, with constant background noise and distracting visuals. I would advise against subscribing to this channel.
5. Michelle - 2 out of 5 stars - Magical Journeys YouTube seemed promising at first, but it quickly became apparent that the content was repetitive and uninspiring. The host lacked charisma and failed to capture my attention. Furthermore, the video editing was choppy and poorly executed, making it difficult to follow along. Overall, I think there are much better travel channels out there worth watching.