Archive | August, 2015

The Night Destiny Visited Me

30 Aug
irrelevant but pretty image from

irrelevant but pretty image from

                I just realized that I don’t believe in destiny.

                I mean, there could be such thing as destiny, but in the mere sense that it is a label for anything that’s happening; there’s nothing so magical and special about it. Things happen, and those things are the result of every human action. It’s all a matter of choices and decisions and getting others entangled in our strings. I don’t know why I’m writing this right now, but I’m just feeling so annoyed. I’m supposed to be doing a reflection paper on a chick flick movie, and I got two more subjects to study. The thing is I couldn’t get this reflection paper started because I’m suddenly feeling so disgusted with the movie and its superbly fictional perception of destiny. A man falls unconscious for four hours at sea and survives, meets his first love after twenty long years, rekindles their affection even if the girl’s married, faces the pain of their past decisions, gets killed by his abusive father, and had his heart donated to his beloved’s teenage son who of all times got into an accident. I can’t find any moral worth dwelling in, and instead I’m killing precious time. I find the story unrealistic, plain and predictable and the only thing that seems to be the theme is overly dramatic and openly self-manifesting destiny. Ew.

I’m actually a fan of love stories. My favorite is The Hunger Games. It’s not the typical chick flick one could expect, with elements like an unjust future society, gluttonous clown-looking elites, poisonous berries, poverty-stricken districts, and a 90% screen time of violence and death for audience entertainment. But the moment I read it I knew my standards on true love would escalate to places unimaginable. Maybe it’s the black and white background that intensified the color of love, that it’s not even red but of a je ne sais quoi color that probably exists only in heaven. Love wasn’t self-manifesting or trying to catch the spotlight. Love wasn’t in every line, it was in fact barely said. It was just there, simple and quiet, but overwhelmingly yet not overdramatically powerful. That story is a real work of art, I tell you. Looking at it, I can spot destiny’s crafty handiwork, but it doesn’t come so obviously which makes it rather realistic. Plus, the philosophical ideas are revolutionary.  It’s just amazing; thinking of that story now, I’m starting to believe in destiny again, completely invalidating my opening statement up there and stealing whatever sense remains in this work so far. Now the pieces are drawn together: in real life, a story doesn’t come together to portray destiny, but rather, it is destiny that works in trifles to build a story.

The Red String of Fate from

The Red String of Fate, from

                Digging deeper into destiny, I am a strong admirer of one Eastern legend. It’s called the Red String of Fate, a belief that there is an invisible red string that connects us with people we’re bound to meet. Usually it is said to be invisibly tied around the pinky finger or around the ankle. This string may stretch or tangle, but never break. You may ask, so what? I say, so nothing. It doesn’t matter in the rational sense because this legend itself transcends its practical irrelevance two levels higher. First, it’s a legend. Second, it’s invisible. It’s like a made up story of something which even in that made up context is hard to prove. The string couldn’t even be manipulated, and you don’t get to choose who holds the other end. Even without its name, it’s a nice metaphor of realistic destiny, accurately depicting what destiny really is: a universal element that’s just there – unseen, uncontrollable, but unnecessarily acknowledged and glorified by all.

“It makes me realize that the best stories exist beyond books, and the best Writer beyond this world.”

Everything is actually meant to be. It’s the label we put in it that develops a hyperbolic perception. Yes, I cringe at dramatic portrayals of destiny in books and movies. I snort at cheesy lines.  I hate love that does not take time. I instead find myself drawn to accidentals, and a love that’s painted by patience and losing oneself. I like seeing people meet and fall in love, because it’s just beautiful. Their strings are one, and it’s amazing to imagine how they have lived apart for years, doing this and that unaware of the invisible red string that connects them. And then, their worlds drift closer until they overlap – and finally cross each other’s path. The string entangles them, making it hard to walk apart, and then they’re just stuck with each other. They become part of each other. I like hearing such stories in real life; it makes me realize that the best stories exist beyond books, and the best Writer beyond this world.

Wow, I said a lot. I’m not even discussing love yet. Funny how love is always associated with destiny, which of course I’m not going to negate. Again, I’m not saying there’s no such thing as destiny; there is. I define destiny as simply ‘what is’. Maybe I’ve just outgrown storybooks that destiny as a mystical manipulating agent is hard to believe in, making me despise chick flick movies.

Who cares if destiny really works the way we think it does anyway? After all, there is no truth, just reality – how we perceive all things to be.