Before social media…Before cell phones…Before life got complicated… There were roller rinks. My sister and I had matching candy apple red patent leather roller skates my mom bought for us, and every Friday night felt magical under the disco lights at Skating Plus in The Valley. Music blasting. Wheels rolling. Freedom. Innocence. Sisterhood. ✨🛼 They eventually turned it into Racquetball World…but in my memories, the music is still playing. Did anyone else grow up at a roller skating rink every weekend?What was yours called… and what song instantly takes you back there🎶 #Friday nights belonged to Skating Plus.

If you’re new here, breathe 💜 You don’t have to figure everything out at once. This is a space for storytelling, creativity, reflection, connection, photography, memoir, and being fully human. This community is for:📖 Writers & storytellers📸 Creatives & photographers💜 Deep feelers & thoughtful humans✨ People finding their voice again🌎 Anyone wanting real connection over performance Here’s how to begin: 1️⃣ Introduce yourself in the community. Tell us who you are, where you’re from, what you create, or what brought you here. 2️⃣ Explore the categories. You’ll find spaces for memoir, creativity, photography, conversations, inspiration, and community connection. 3️⃣ Participate freely. Comment, share thoughts, ask questions, post your work, celebrate wins, or simply observe until you feel comfortable 💜 4️⃣ Be kind. This is a supportive, encouraging, judgment-free space. We grow together here. 5️⃣ Have fun with it ✨You do not need to be perfect to belong here. This isn’t just a community. It's a place to remember who you are through story, creativity, and connection. I’m so happy you’re here 💜— Cristal

My mother came from a generation that watched nightly news stories about girls disappearing into “white slavery,” cults, drugs, and Hollywood exploitation. To her, modeling wasn’t glamorous first — it was dangerous first. And Japan? Japan may as well have been the moon. There was no internet. No texting. No way to track me in real time. Just contracts faxed across oceans, expensive international phone calls, and my mother sitting at the kitchen table trying to understand what kind of world was asking for her daughter. I remember her on the phone constantly, questioning agencies, discussing contracts, verifying names, trying to hear danger through static-filled international calls. Looking back now, I realize she wasn’t being controlling. She was terrified. By then, I wasn’t just modeling anymore. I had become a teenage runaway. In the 1980s, runaway culture was everywhere. Movies. Music. News stories. Missing girls on milk cartons. Punk clubs. Hollywood apartments. Kids escaping homes, rules, pain, boredom, abuse, or sometimes just themselves. My friends would later make Where the Day Takes You, but long before Hollywood turned runaway life into cinema, I was already living pieces of it. A judge once told me there would be a warrant out for my arrest until I turned eighteen because I kept running away. But the strange thing was…nobody stopped me from getting on an airplane to Japan. Somehow, crossing an ocean with a modeling contract looked more acceptable than staying out all night in Los Angeles. So I ran away professionally. And once I got to Japan, I didn’t want to come home. My agent sounded confused on the phone when Christmas came around. “Why don’t you want to go back?” I didn’t know how to explain that Japan felt safer than my own life. #Through a Mothers Len of Protection @Karin Crawford @Adelina Rosa @Krista Brea

1980. White dress. Garden light. Long hair blowing. I had absolutely no idea what was coming. I didn't know I'd end up in Hollywood. I didn't know I'd be on MTV. I didn't know I'd stand next to Al Pacino. I didn't know I'd spend 3 decades behind a lens helping people feel the way I felt in this photo. Free. Seen. Alive. You know me as your photographer. The one who guides your lighting. The one who captures you remotely and delivers your photos the same day. But there is a whole story behind how I got here. And I'm writing it live. Inside my other community — Memoir Skool — I'm sharing raw, unfiltered chapters from my life in Hollywood and Japan during the 1980s. Not polished. Not edited. Just life — exactly as it happened. CBS. MTV. SAG since 1987. Tom Petty. Bruce Willis. Al Pacino. Tokyo. London. Hollywood. The stories behind the photographs. The moments the camera never captured. 🔑 Here's how it works: ✦ Join free — takes 30 seconds ✦ Request the key to each chapter as it's written ✦ Read my story in real time — raw and unfiltered ✦ Visual anime scenes bring each memory to life You already trust me with your image. Now I want to trust you with my story. Come read it. — Cristal "Not a memory — a movement."

@Jenna Kelly 🌺 🎬 Jenna Kelly is in the building. 📸 Jenna — welcome. Personally. From me. The fact that you're here means something. This isn't a place people stumble into. You showed up because something brought you here — a story, a feeling, a pull toward something real. And if you're here, you're already a part of it. This memoir is unfolding live. Hollywood. Tokyo. The 80s. The grit behind the glamour. The truth nobody told me. And now you get to be in the room while it's written. I'm honored you chose to be here, Jenna. Truly. — — — Now, to everyone else in this community — Come show Jenna some love. 👇 Drop a welcome, share what brought YOU here, or just let her know she's landed somewhere real. This is the kind of place where nobody walks in alone. And I'm right here, Jenna. Not behind a screen somewhere far away — right here. If you have a question, a thought, something stirring in you after reading — say it. I'll answer. Welcome to the story, Jenna Kelly. 🎞️ Classroom