Kay

What does this mean for you? You have a healthy skepticism and pessimism that enlightens those around you, but don’t forget to find balance with optimism and warmth. 

The fairytale goes something like this: Once upon a time, a mirror created by the Devil fell from the skies, shattering into millions of pieces. Much could be seen through this cursed mirror, but none of it good. It allowed one to look into the hearts and minds of others and see their bitter nature. Some of these shattered pieces were large enough to create windows, others small as a grain of sand. It was these grainy pieces that settled into many unfortunate souls on the earthly plane. Hearts that housed the mirror grew dark and cold, happiness dissolving as their very heart chilled to ice. This would be the unfortunate fate of a young boy. 

On earth, winter reigned this season, where a little boy and little girl played in their small town. He was named Kay, and her name was Gerda. Brother and sister, they loved each other dearly and were inseparable. But while they played, the snow fell in soft clumps from the gray skies, and one very large snowflake transformed into a young maiden made entirely of ice and snow. Frightened of her, Kay ran back inside. Little did he know the Snow Queen had made her entrance. 

By the next day, spring came and Kay thought little of it until the following winter. Just as the town’s clocktower struck five, something fell into his eye, a small piece of the cursed mirror. Once he blinked, however, he seemed perfectly fine, and little Gerda didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But the tiny splinter of the mirror slowly caused his heart to grow terribly cold. He became irritable, cruel, and insufferable, for now he saw all the horrors and lies humanity spewed. He could no longer look upon anyone with kindness, nor could he trust anyone. 

Gerda could tell something was wrong, but Kay waved her off, calling her tears of compassion silly and her face ugly. Though he remained beautiful on the outside, his heart was cold, chilled from the frosty nature of the cursed mirror. 

One winter’s day, he encountered the strange Snow Queen again. While playing with his sled, he accidentally flew farther than he intended. As it turned out, all the snow that accumulated on his sled had been the Snow Queen herself–she’d driven the sled, in fact–and led him astray. Since he was cold, she offered him her coat, but this only made Kay colder still. Then she started to kiss his cheeks, and the cold krept further into his heart, solidifying it. Not only that, but the Snow Queen was incredibly beautiful and her call to her court compelled him to leave with her. Mesmerized, he forgot all about his home and sister Gerda and disappeared thereafter. 

This is where Gerda’s side of the story comes into play. Once she learned Kay disappeared, she sought to find him. Along the way, she even threw away her favorite shoes into the river, begging it in exchange for directions to Kay. And the river, sorry for her plight, helped her along, towards a kind witch, and this kind witch to a prince and princess that housed her for the night. They gifted her a beautiful dress and a carriage to carry her towards the land of the Snow Queen, far, far away north to her queendom–Lapland. While her next encounter was with a family of conniving thieves, their vile yet whimsical daughter nonetheless found compassion with Gerda’s story of love and loss and helped her. The robber-girl gave Gerda her reindeer who rode with Gerda all the way to Lapland and the court of the Snow Queen. 

It was there, within the cold palace of wonders and ice, isolated and silent, that she found Kay, situated just before the very throne of the Snow Queen. Though she was off in a different country, Kay was still bewitched by her spell. He was oh so cold, lips blue, almost black, just like his heart at this moment. He sat upon the icy floor, playing with flat pieces of ice, creating patterns and collages even as his fingers numbed. Though he tried and tried, none of his works could create what he wanted, or more accurately, what the little shard of ice in his eye, wanted–Eternity. Ice can be eternal, lifeless as it is, and to be lifeless is to be eternal–elemental and archetypal–no longer human. The Snow Queen even promised that if he made the figure of Eternity, she would forever be a part of her court of eternal winter. 

Finding him there, Gerda ran to him. “Kay!” she cried. “Finally, I’ve found you!” She held him there amid the icy palace of eternal winter, and her hot tears of love melted the ice, first in his eye, then his heart. Kay too burst into tears, normal and warm and back to himself. 

And hand in hand, laughing and together, joyful and merry, they ran home. 

So ends the tale of the Snow Queen. 

Well, it should be clear to you now, dear reader, that Hans Christian Andersen preferred the soft and warm personality of Gerda. The actual story is rich with contrasting symbols of fire and warmth versus ice and the cold, with heavy favoritism to the warmth and compassion of Gerda, and while this isn’t necessarily wrong, it doesn’t give any justice to Kay or the Snow Queen’s side. Andersen’s story about the sharp contrast of light and dark, a timeless dichotomy that favors one over the other rather than finding balance in opposites. Andersen wrote this story for the very purpose of putting faith in others, and while this is a good lesson to learn, that also discounts the positive aspects of someone like Kay. 

C.G. Jung–a dedicated and respected psychologist of the twentieth century–would probably have a similar take. In the very last work of his life, Mysterium Coniunctionis, he paints the grand metaphor that opposites converging together have a greater outcome than favoritism to one or the other. To do so creates a false sense of right and wrong rather than finding a balance, and more importantly, wholeness. Take the Taoist symbol of Yin and Yang, for example. Without one, the other cannot exist, and even more, they have pieces of their opposite within the other. This is balance–wholeness. 

But what does this mean for you, dear reader and established Kay? You are the other half of Gerda, skeptical, and perhaps pessimistic, but you have something she does not. A healthy sense of both skepticism and pessimism helps others, and you, grow. It means you are not susceptible to people’s lies, and prefer to think for yourself rather than blind faith. This makes you an introspective person that has a good sense of judgment. While Kay is understood as the example of ‘what not to do’ in this story, that is merely Hans Christian Andersen’s take. Should an alternative version of the story come to light, perhaps Gerda would be the one to falsely believe in someone and Kay would be the one with the knowledge to save her. Ultimately they are two halves of a whole and the key factor of them is balance. 

And this also doesn’t mean that one side is better. Being Kay does come with its own flaws, as you may misunderstand the charity of offers as a cunning scheme rather than a heartfelt gift. Like Kay, you may have been so pessimistic at one point, you lost your sense of self entirely and wasted away in depression. In those moments, it is good to remember that you can also find solace with a character like Gerda without forgetting your own nature as Kay and finding a healthy balance between the two that will help you blossom into something beautiful. 

Additionally, you may also have a stoic disposition, but at the same time, you awaken by the warmth of others once you trust them, finding solace in their warmth to your cool nature. You too could learn from Gerda’s sense of faith, but Gerda and others like her, could also learn from your meticulous discernment. 

Ultimately, cold and warm balance each other out, and as Kay, do not forget your best traits, dear reader, even if others do.