Twenty Pesos and a Friday Night

I should go out more. That’s what I’ve concluded after I had my fortune read for the very first time.

The fortuneteller was nothing like I expected. Maybe that’s because I watch too much movies and television. The stereotype I have is that of Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost conning her way by using eerie voices and weird eye movements.

There was nothing supernatural about the way she looked. She was a fairly thin lady of about mid-thirties with an open and welcoming demeanor about her. She looked just like one of those mothers who tag along their kids to church.

I wasn’t expecting a life-altering experience. But I did hope I would be told of something even remotely mystical. Something like when Santiago went to that Gypsy woman in The Alchemist. But nothing like that happened. Sigh. No treasure in the Egyptian Pyramids, then.

Three minutes into the reading, I was stuck between the feeling of repressed laughter and the feeling of irritation.

“Where’s your boyfriend now?” She asked.

I shrugged and shook my head. I realize I should’ve said something to enlighten her that my nonexistent boyfriend was nowhere right now. But I guess there was something in my reaction that made her ask the next question.

“But you do have a boyfriend, right?”

“No, I don’t”

“But you had a boyfriend before?”

“I’ve never tried it.”

“You haven’t tried having a boyfriend before?”

I nodded. The last thing I needed right then is a fortuneteller trampling on my ego, rubbing it in my face that until now, I’m a member of the no boyfriend since birth club. But that exchange was still pretty funny, if you look at it differently.

She said that she was asking me these questions because it was clear to her that I have been hurt before and I was very hesitant to “play the field”, so to speak. She then proceeded to tell me about not one, not two, but three guys who apparently like me a lot. Now, the situation from funny became outright hilarious. The catch is: I don’t pay any attention to them. There’s this other guy, though, whom I really dislike and am irritated at. Now, there’s a lot that fit that category.

My cards also say that I will meet someone whom I will fall head-over-heels in love with. But she warned me to leave something for myself and not give my all out to this person because I’d get up getting hurt badly and it would lead to the deterioration of my health. I should also be careful of a married or very experienced man who will show an interest in me.

What is she talking about? This is me, who’d rather spend my Saturday night watching TV or re-reading a good book than go out and party. There are probably five or so guys whom I consider friends, and apart from them, I don’t have any more male acquaintances. And three?! Yeah, right.

And it didn’t stop there. The pattern of cards placed around the queen of hearts that apparently represented me (Yeah, I know, so cliché) showed that my future looks practically peachy. My parents love and think of me, there’s prosperity on the way, and even chances for abroad. Plus, all my four wishes’ answers are yes. Now, does it get any better than that?

Hear a great perspective of your life for just twenty pesos. If there’s an ad, that’s what it should say. These readings were not unique to me. Most of us had similar analyses, which is kind of a bummer, because a part of me wanted to believe that even half of it would be true.

The reading for twenty pesos was not that bad. True, I could’ve gotten all that encouragement and rosy future shtick from my friends for free, but I thought the cards and the palm reading was a nice touch.

I don’t really see myself looking for another session anytime soon. That one is enough to last me for a long while. I thought maybe I should give the forecasts a chance to even have a chance. And that’s when I concluded I should go out more. How else would I meet the two mestizos and the other moreno guy, huh? (*wink, wink*). My life’s a sitcom. No matter how hard I try to look at it as a dramatic saga, it’s a sitcom.

There was one thing that really amused me about the whole experience. It was the first thing that she told me when I sat down and extended my palm. She told me I am intelligent.

Intelligent. That killed me. If I were really smart, I should’ve gone straight home and watched the re-run of X-Files on TV.

Sadness

It catches up with you.

Late at night, when you’re alone with your thoughts, and trying to fall asleep, it catches up with you. Just when you thought you got away with it. Just when you thought the day is over and you can finally rest. It catches up with you.

The worst part of your day has just begun. In the silence, your personal demons are awakening. The night won’t save you. Sleep won’t come. Peace of mind evades you no matter how much you long for it. This is their hour and you - their reluctant guest of honor. It won’t help to fight it. You’ll lose. Without question. Rationalizing won’t help. The night is deep and logic and reason have become irrelevant. You are alone. Utterly. Helplessly. Find your voice and scream from the depths of your lungs, but it won’t drown the chaos in your head. Meet your demons. It would do you well to get acquainted with what will be familiar.

Meet your sadness.

Sadness creeps up from behind and chokes you. Slowly. Silently. Deliberately.

From the deepest and darkest recesses of your soul where you tried to suffocate it, it rises above and vents its anger. Sadness avenges itself against you. Accusing you. It derives its strength from your deceit. For every faked smile and hollow laughter you gave, it doubles its strength inside your own dark underworld. Biding its time. Waiting for the perfect moment to pounce when you are alone and there is nothing to shield you. No gay laughter of friends. No drone of lecture in the classroom. No artificial entertainment on the television.

When everything else is taken out, all you have left is Sadness. It is preceded by the empty feeling of void in your heart. It is accompanied by the nagging worries in your mind. Flanked by the hopelessness in your spirit. When you’re at your most vulnerable, it strikes.

Tears eventually follow. But when Sadness is at its strongest and most vindictive, you won’t have the mercy of tears. Being able to cry is merciful. If you’re not able to, all you’re left with is this choking worthlessness vibrating in your core, echoing through your whole being. An open wound stinging with pain but you can’t scream. You can’t do anything. You endure it. You endure it until you can’t take anymore. Even if you’re pushed through your limits, you have no choice but to suck it in.

Sadness is the well-guarded monster you keep inside of yourself and tell nobody about. You feed it by ignoring it. Denying its existence. Convincing yourself that you have it under control. The more you suppress it, the scarier it becomes.

A frown. A knot in the eyebrows. A twinge of loneliness. A feeling of rejection. A lack of escape. A taste of imprisonment. An overwhelming sense of frustration. An infinite ocean of negativity.

The next thing you know, you are fighting for breath. Drowning in your own sea of sorrows. Flailing your arms for rescue. But something pulls you down. You struggle. Gasping for life. But still, something drags you forcefully below. When you look to find out what it is, you find your own self pulling you down. Your smiling, laughing, suppressed double with its fake mirthful face, grabbing you down.

Welcome to your hell. And here is your steward, yourself.