The closest I'll get is a fortune cookie...

I've just finished reading a book entitled The Alchemist which was recommended to me by my father, who in turn had it recommended by a friend. In light of my recent posts on trust and living with uncertainty I found the following quote quite insightful:

"The tribesmen preferred... the thrill of not knowing what the outcome would be; the future was already written by Allah, and what he had written was always for the good of man. So [they] lived only for the present, because the present was full of surprises..." pp. 101-2

I've never gone to see a fortune teller, had my palms read, a tarot reading, or anything like that. Technically, I'm pretty sure my religious background forbids it. That's not to say I've never been curious though. At the same time, I've decided that, like the tribesmen, I'd leave my future to fate. If I knew what was going to happen, it would just spoil the adventure, the suspense! When something bad happens to you though, I think many have the tendency to wonder about the what ifs: what if I could have prevented this? What did I miss? Nobody enjoys illness or grief or misfortune, therefore the natural tendency would be one of avoidance. But, if I may quote from The Alchemist once more, "...the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself." p.130 That's why I hate needles - because I can anticipate the pain. That's why I don't like horror movies, because I already know there's going to be blood and gore and I'm not going to enjoy it. That's why I don't like orange juice, because I can anticipate the sour citrus, the acidity, especially if I've just brushed my teeth. Yuck. And that's why I wouldn't want to know my future, because good or bad, the anticipation of it all would ruin the ultimate experience.

I think of the time I spent right before I was diagnosed... I had cut bangs over Christmas so I had a chic, fresh look for 2007. Weeks before I was maximizing the little time I knew I had left in DC, whether it was exploring U Street, going to all the (free!) museums I hadn't been to before on the Mall, spending hours painting in Walsh, or trying new restaurants and clubs. The weekend before I was showcasing my beloved island home to new and dear friends, wearing my latest buys that were my 'spring splurges' in preparation for a chic and stylish summer. Three nights before I had dinner with a wonderful friend and enjoyed (maybe a bit too much) wonderful wine. The day before I laughed until my stomach hurt with my sister. Later we all laughed as we recounted our own hilarity to the rest of our family. I don't know what I would've done if I had known what was going to happen to me. All of that though, all of those memories, my last crazy times, would have been ruined. I can barely handle the burden of this leukemia now and I'm right in the middle of it. The leukemia, technically a cancer of my blood, has seemed at times to be a cancer of my life - taking over everything, snatching my control away and leaving me exhausted, helpless, a shell of my former self. Cancer can simply be defined as a rapid, uncontrollable growth of cells. So my cancer: rapid? Very. Uncontrollable? At times, yes. Growth? Well, not of my cancer, but of myself? Yes. It's as if this this shell of my former self is a chrysalis, and within that I am slowly growing, slowly changing, to become something better and more beautiful than I was before. As The Alchemist also says, "If you pay attention to the present, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve upon the present, what comes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each day... confident that God loves his children." p. 103

I don't know what my palms say. I don't know what my tarot cards would read. I can't interpret tea leaves, and I've never looked into a crystal ball. But I have lived. Not for that long, but I think I know a couple things: Life is good. Life can also be bad. But you couldn't have one without the other, so you just have to adapt, maybe even change, and move on with what you've got. It is what it is. The present is certainly full of surprises; and if you don't mind my being a tad selfish, I hope my surprises are mostly good from now on...

So here's to the future. Quo fata ferunt.