Kitchie Ohh: Gone and Forgotten

Portrait of model Kitchie Ohh by Michael Bann
Kitchie Ohh. Photo courtesy of Michael Bann, Copyright 2022

Text By Kitchie Ohh, Copyright 2022


Gone and Forgotten


Well, it’s officially October. The start of Spooky Season. Celebrating Samhain, All Hallows Eve, Halloween. Whatever you want to call it, and however you want to celebrate, or not, it’s here. For thirty-one days, people will be going all out to scare and be scared, for the sheer thrill of it. Which has me thinking, what are you afraid of? 

A few years ago, a friend and I took an autumn trip to Massachusetts. Starting in Boston, we toured the city on foot. I should mention that this friend is not from the U.S., so the American History aspect through a Brit’s eyes was quite an interesting perspective. Between Paul Revere, the Boston Tea Party, and all 294 steps up the Bunker Hill Monument and down again, we found ourselves strolling through cemeteries and learning about their notable occupants. In one small plot, tucked away amid the bustle of the city, I felt a sense of overwhelming emotions- mostly a mixture of sadness and horror. The cause? One completely worn away headstone and a historical placard. Staring me in the face – figuratively, this isn’t a ghost story! -was proof of a formerly living, breathing person that someone cared enough for to provide a proper burial and headstone, who time had completely erased. The card stated no records of this burial exist, due to age and damage. No family has laid claim to the occupant of the coffin and the stone is too eroded to decipher any writing whatsoever. 

From Boston, we drove the short distance to Salem. The trip was timed so that we would not be there during peak tourist season. To me, the draw of Salem is the history, the tragic reminder of what happened there. It is not magic wands, or broomsticks, potions or cauldrons. And let’s not even mention Harry Potter, okay? (Seriously, they are not even remotely connected.) The victims of the Witch Trials deserve dignity and respect, things they did not get in the time leading up to their deaths. Their graves are not the scene for some magical photo op or scary story. What they suffered at the hands of other human beings is scary enough. But I digress.

Again, we found ourselves strolling along cemetery grounds and historical monuments. There is a simple beauty in the space dedicated to those accused, and found guilty, of witchcraft. You often hear modern day practitioners saying they can trace their lineage back to one victim or another. It’s a badge of honor; though I doubt that every claim to this is valid. This remembrance of names and lives, the purposeful upkeep of carved monuments is a stark contrast to the weather worn and time forgotten Boston headstone.

These were all regular people. They died tragically, yes. I do not argue the importance of remembering their lives and what happened to them, lest history repeat. But I do identify more with the forgotten Bostonian, whoever they were, because I am terrified this is what my life will amount to – a pile of bones, a worn stone and a card that says “we have no idea who this is, but hey, thanks for stopping by.”

I heard somewhere that we die twice. The first time, physically; the second, when our name is uttered for the last time. It is only then that we are truly gone. From the world, from all memory. Despite knowing that there are countless people who came before me and that it is absolutely impossible for there to be some recorded history of every single one of them, seeing that headstone was a chilling reminder that life is fragile. The feeling was nothing that a good meal, with an even better hard cider, and the company of my wonderful friend couldnt shake. We were present, sharing the experience of living. And it was beautiful.

I am fully aware of my own mortality and absolute cluelessness about what happens next. And if I’m honest, I wouldn’t actually be living if I spent my days in constant worry over it, but the thought sometimes creeps in. Have I made a significant enough impact on the world, or even one person, to be remembered? By showing up as the best me I can be, every day, I sure hope I have. Have you?  


Kitchie Ohh wearing fangs in a red boudoir
Kitchie Ohh. Photo courtesy of Michael Bann, Copyright 2022


About The Author: 

Kitchie Ohh is a full-time professional fundraiser who has worked with a number of health and human services nonprofits for over the last 20 years, currently with a food-related Philadelphia nonprofit. She found her passion for modeling after a pinup-style photoshoot in 2013. Since then shes worked with many talented photographers, stylists, hair and makeup artists in a variety of styles.  She has been featured in -and on the covers of- multiple print and digital publications. Over the years she has branched out from pinup studio modeling to serve as a figure model for live sketching, walked a runway, and was part of two campaigns for local Philadelphia designer K. Vaughn. 

In addition to her food insecurity-related work, she has also volunteered with art, historical, and community organizations, and even on the events team of a local brewery, pre-pandemic.  

Youre just as likely to find her whipping up something deliciously plant-based in her kitchen or knitting a sweater as you are to find her on a photography set. Her motto is be both.” The model and the homemaker,  sultry and sweet, serious and silly. All the things, all at once.  

Editor’s Note:

The photos with this post were taken at a gorgeous hotel property in Roxbury, NY by a brilliant photographer, and my friend, Michael Bann who also publishes multiple titles under the umbrella of Retro Lovely Magazine. It has been a privilege to be included in the pages of many issues as well as on two covers. 


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