My mother used to love to head for Hong Kong during the summer months. Occasionally, I was allowed to skip school and play tag-along. For a part chinese lady, she’s deeply rooted in chinese culture and this includes superstitions. I would be a willing party in her bid to try and feng-shui her life into greener pastures not that life was anything to complain about.
I distinctly remember the last time I set foot into this famous fortune teller’s home. The air was smokey, pungent with the scent of incense and he squints intently at the lines that run through my palm. A pause later, he reveals that my life will abound with the love from others. Men will not be able to resist and I will be blessed with a life bursting with all things shiny.
With everything great, there is always a “but”. Well, in this case I am lovable but not worth loving for all eternity apparently. And that’s how long I forgot his prediction.
Until, Frank brought it up. It might be an awful generalisation of character but, in my case there is an overwhelming fear that this might ring true. Maybe, its time I throw away that box that is filled with all things shiny. Tiffany ring or not. Pave diamond regardless. I should not be hanging on to something that belongs to my past. Not if I want to move on and along.
Why live a life built on what could have been. It is easy to say woulda coulda shoulda, isn’t it?
I could have been a doctor’s wife. An accountant’s LV trotting gf. I could have been a mother of adorable french/chinese/north-indian/dutch babies. I would have been an awesome film maker winning awards at the sundance but.
I am not all those things.
I am the girl who is fighting to keep her life afloat. To keep dancing this last dance because she has to believe in it for one last time. Please don’t mistake this as a whinge on my part because the truth is far from it. I recognise I have to live this up and not fall into the path of shoulda woulda coulda. The end had better be good. If it isn’t. I am wearing my 5 inch Gucci boots and kicking someone’s arse!
