In romance, Cancers will shower their partners with love, through heart-shaped poems that appear on your desk after a Kurt Vonnegut quiz, or mid-day texts that simply state, “hey, you’re great.” These declarations are void of embarrassment, and performed with such confidence that they often make me wish I could go back in time and pop out of my mother two weeks after I did. If I were a Pisces, I wouldn’t hesitate over sending an “I miss you” text. Water signs don’t think; they feel. Well they think too. But feelings always come first, and why shouldn’t they?! They understand that it’s healthier to fully experience the emotion, than to let it boil under the surface until it comes out one morning while waiting in line at Coffee Fix. Because learning that your nearby breakfast establishment just ran out of E.T. bagels is an appropriate time to cry about that thing that upset you two weeks ago. 

Many Cancer people display their maternal nurturing qualities through physical touch. One minute you’ll confess your disappointment in your ability to find a link to the latest Rupaul, and the next second you’ll feel a hand gently rubbing your upper back. What’s that? Oh, it’s a Cancer! “It’s okay, we can try again tomorrow,” they coo. And have you ever received a hug from a double Cancer? It feels less like a hug, and more like a brief embrace of the souls. I’m not kidding! It’s akin to the moment in one of my favorite cinematic masterpieces, Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part I, when Bella finally becomes a vampire and she watches her life pass before her eyes through the inkwell filter while Iron & Wine plays softly in the background.

 ​​Void of any planets in fire, my Leo rising has always felt like a distant cousin at Christmas, both a stranger and a relative. Sure, we share some blood and a family tree, but the relationship is forced, and why exhaust myself with small-talk when I’ll probably never see dear Sabrina from Poland ever again? Descriptions such as, “confident”, and “expressive” appear as buzzwords I would have claimed as my own at seven years old, before I developed acne or understood that words have meaning. Around high school, I realized these descriptions represented my opposite. Aquarius doesn’t shine; it collaborates. And if I had a dollar for every time someone referred to me as, “gentle,” I’d retire at twenty-five. Leo is very much a foreign entity in my psyche; yet just like the sun, it’s presence is constant in my environment. It’s my mother, my aspirations, my hobbies, and my friends. But above everything else, it’s what I aspire to be.
 
Your rising sign functions as a guide, revealing the final destination of your natal chart. Through implementing its qualities, you can remove the dust from your mirror, and see your truest form in its reflection. My mirror requires a lot more than a duster, but this idea makes sense to me. Most people don’t resonate with their rising signs. It’s not a planet. It’s the ascendant—a word that is synonymous with “prevailing.” I can’t think of a better word to describe my relationship with the Lion. Despite my resistance to its less flattering characteristics, I’m drawn to its experience. As a writer and performer, creative expression is more than just a hobby, it’s a daily practice. And like many artists, the desire to prove myself runs deep. I can admit that I long to feel special. This longing is the fundamental force behind all of Leos’ desires.
 
I prefer not to think of myself as someone who needs to be liked, or someone who craves the spotlight. But the truth is, I do crave adoration; I do want attention. We all do. And that is what’s missing from every lazy, Leo description you’ll read on the internet. The Leo experience is a uniquely human one. It’s no wonder that it’s planet is the sun, it represents a need we all harbor. The shyest person in the world still possesses a desire to shine as a unique individual. It’s not only natural, it’s our God-given right. We all possess a desire to feel truly alive. We all yearn to return to the state of childhood, before self-expression was clouded by egos and judgment. We all want to love and be loved. We all want respect, and we all want to feel content in our own skin. To say we don’t want these things, would be a blatant lie. And while the idea of serving the collective sounds noble and moral, it is an impossible task if we don’t first love ourselves. I understand that this is the key to cultivating my true personality. But even if you don’t have Leo rising, do what makes you feel most alive. It is the only way to truly live.

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I do not love all things, however. I am not like the child in the candy store. No, a more accurate comparison would be to that of every spoiled brat from MTV’s “My Super Sweet Sixteen.” I want a Porsche, but not just any Porsche. I want the 2018 edition that hasn’t been released to the general public yet and I want custom eggshell leather seats, and I want to receive it at my Quincenera and not a day earlier, okay mom?!?