#bona fide

This phrase has appeared around me multiple times this year. Some people see angel numbers—111, 777—but me? I see the script of fate written plainly, no numerology required.

The first time I encountered it, I had to look up its meaning. I liked it, of course, and then immediately forgot what it meant. Typical. After that, it kept resurfacing across my life by what others would call chance. But nothing about me is accidental. Chaos, yes—but even chaos has a core. And this word felt like it lived there.

So I kept seeing it.

And I kept forgetting it.

Until one day I didn’t.

Until I truly understood it.

And then it imprinted itself into me.

Today, when I was tasked with creating a guardian for my vessel, I was also tasked with naming it.

Bona fide.

The guardian of the authentic self.

Next year I want to stay true to myself. That will be work—real labor—because while I know exactly who I am, I am also always performing. And next year, even as I perform, I must remain authentic, or I risk losing myself in the spectacle.

Bona fide.

Genuine.

I’m glad I found it. Or rather—I’m glad it finally caught me. Dionysus placed it in my path; I know it. I was begging for a sign, and this was it.

Bona fide: do everything from the truth of your heart, without ulterior motive.

(And if you know me, you know everything about me is artifice, theater, and occasionally heinous purpose.)

Bona fide.

Be honest.

I chose a bunny skull for my totem. I love bunnies, though I rarely call myself one—they seem weak. But the truth is, I am weak. I may be a mythical, divine creature, but I am still a vessel. I still crack. I still pray, somehow.

Bona fide.

We shall see what becomes of me in 2026.