Curiosity finally got the best of me. For the first time in my life, I paid for a psychic’s services.
I have felt skeptical about it for a long time because often, it seems that people who have approached me to offer their guidance repeat information that could apply to almost everyone.
“You’re very confused about your future,” or “There is a boy on your mind that you’re not sure about.”
I planned that if I ever decided to see a psychic, I would go prepared, meaning that I would not accidentally disclose any information about myself involuntarily through the way I appeared. I wanted to see if there was any truth to the claim that psychics read people through their presence and aura rather than their looks and material possessions.
But this trip was spontaneous. While going for a walk down a busy shopping strip with some friends, we noticed the signs advertising special savings on palm readings. We climbed up a flight of stairs to enter the building, which was a unit attached to the woman’s home.
It was exciting. I did not know what to expect. Contrary to popular belief, however, the set-up did not resemble the images that one is normally bombarded with on television or movies. It was not dark and scary, nor did it remind me of a séance. There was not an overabundance of lit candles nor was there incense burning nearby. The psychic was not an old woman draped in cloaks and amulets.
In fact, the room was fairly well lit and very welcoming. There were tarot cards laid out on a small table against the wall. We sat down in two regular chairs, face-to-face. The woman had to be in her late 20s at the most. I almost thought she was going to retrieve someone else. She didn’t.
The readings were one-on-one with each of us, individually. I was surprised that without telling her any personal information, she accurately described several aspects of my present life.
Once I showed her my palm, she immediately said, “You are very indecisive,” and went on to describe my conflict with career choices.
“You have one strong talent or passion that you somewhat are trying to avoid. Do not listen to your family. They want to keep you in a safety net but that lifestyle is not for you.”
She continued to tell me things involving love and relationships, marriage, potential pregnancies, traveling, family and friends, jealousy and much more. There were things that were pleasing to the ear and some that were not.
I should not get into the details for obvious reasons. But overall, I was very satisfied with the experience. She seemed very genuine and sincere. Call me a fool but I believe most of what she said, at least to a certain extent.
But I cannot say that I am a complete believer or not. I think everything is still questionable. I will take what she said and try to expand on it. What I can change for myself, I will. But I will try to not let her words completely dictate my actions.
We are each in control of our destinies, after all. Some say that our lives are predetermined. I would like to think that the future can always change.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The greatness that was kindergarten
It’s important for parents to instill the significance of education to children at a young age. I still remember my very first day of school like it was yesterday. It was a cold morning in Sept. 1993 when my mother took me to Highland Elementary School in Richmond, Calif. for kindergarten.
The combination of my excitement and my mother’s nervousness lead us to arrive much earlier than anticipated. So we waited in the designated orientation area, the cafeteria, and I ate my favorite breakfast food at the time of my 5-year-old life: pancakes.
Slowly, more children and their families began gathering. My mother befriended another parent while we were waiting and as I stared at the boy from across the table, little did I know at the time that they were arranging carpool schedules. Bored and anxious, I patiently sat at the table. Because I did not attend preschool, I did not immediately play with the other kids who seemed to already know each other. But I did not care.
I wondered what was taking so long but my mother informed me they were assembling the two classes. I wanted my teacher, Ms. Santoro, a nice Japanese lady, to hurry up and take us to the promise land that was, and still is, the classroom. Finally, parents and children were lead over to room 2. The thrill I felt at the moment I found the paper tag labeled “Holly” sitting atop my assigned desk was an exhilarating feeling.
Smiling from ear to ear, I waved and waved and waved to my mother, as if to say, “Look at me! I’m at school, I’m a big girl now!” It was a great moment. Around me, I saw children crying rivers of tears. They were clinging to their parents’ legs, begging them not to leave. I, on the other hand, was more than ready to see my mother walk out of that room. I was eager to start that new chapter in my life.
I don’t remember what happened the rest of that day. But I do remember being ahead of my class that year when it came to reading and writing. Even though I did not attend preschool, my mother took it upon herself to make sure I was at an adequate comprehension level to enter kindergarten. Because of the countless trips we had taken to the Richmond Public Library, borrowing tons of books at a time, I was fully equipped to apply what I had already learned at home.
I will never forget the proud look on her face when I first insisted, “I want to read the book out loud,” instead of having her read it to me.
I always knew I would end up going to college. Growing up, doing well in school wasn’t an option. It was an obligation. As weird as it sounds, the concept has helped me. Even though I have never verbally acknowledged it, I do believe that my mother’s encouragement, even though it was annoying sometimes, is the reason why I chose to continue my education. For that, I am forever grateful. I just hope that if I ever have children, I can do the same for them.
The combination of my excitement and my mother’s nervousness lead us to arrive much earlier than anticipated. So we waited in the designated orientation area, the cafeteria, and I ate my favorite breakfast food at the time of my 5-year-old life: pancakes.
Slowly, more children and their families began gathering. My mother befriended another parent while we were waiting and as I stared at the boy from across the table, little did I know at the time that they were arranging carpool schedules. Bored and anxious, I patiently sat at the table. Because I did not attend preschool, I did not immediately play with the other kids who seemed to already know each other. But I did not care.
I wondered what was taking so long but my mother informed me they were assembling the two classes. I wanted my teacher, Ms. Santoro, a nice Japanese lady, to hurry up and take us to the promise land that was, and still is, the classroom. Finally, parents and children were lead over to room 2. The thrill I felt at the moment I found the paper tag labeled “Holly” sitting atop my assigned desk was an exhilarating feeling.
Smiling from ear to ear, I waved and waved and waved to my mother, as if to say, “Look at me! I’m at school, I’m a big girl now!” It was a great moment. Around me, I saw children crying rivers of tears. They were clinging to their parents’ legs, begging them not to leave. I, on the other hand, was more than ready to see my mother walk out of that room. I was eager to start that new chapter in my life.
I don’t remember what happened the rest of that day. But I do remember being ahead of my class that year when it came to reading and writing. Even though I did not attend preschool, my mother took it upon herself to make sure I was at an adequate comprehension level to enter kindergarten. Because of the countless trips we had taken to the Richmond Public Library, borrowing tons of books at a time, I was fully equipped to apply what I had already learned at home.
I will never forget the proud look on her face when I first insisted, “I want to read the book out loud,” instead of having her read it to me.
I always knew I would end up going to college. Growing up, doing well in school wasn’t an option. It was an obligation. As weird as it sounds, the concept has helped me. Even though I have never verbally acknowledged it, I do believe that my mother’s encouragement, even though it was annoying sometimes, is the reason why I chose to continue my education. For that, I am forever grateful. I just hope that if I ever have children, I can do the same for them.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Detour
“Isn’t it funny how day to day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different?”
I first saw this quote featured on a former classmate’s MySpace profile. Since the moment I read it a few months ago, I have been mesmerized by the profound reality it presents. In my opinion, this mere 17-word grouping perfectly describes the frailty of human planning and anticipation.
Let’s imagine that someone asks, “What do you see yourself doing five years from now?” I am certain that, more often than not, the answer, even though honest and sincere at the time, would not be exactly what that person is doing in the future.
Before this becomes misleading, let me say that this inaccuracy is not preventable.
The reason for the false prediction is not because the person was unsure of what they wanted. It was because as events unfold, it becomes apparent that life never goes as planned. But whether the unexpected events bring tragedy or triumph, it is most important to be accepting of these life detours.
Truthfully, I had this big picture in my head with all the little details about how my life would be after I transferred from Contra Costa College to a California State University. In fact, I’ve constantly claimed that I “knew” I would go to a school in Southern California. But as expected, things are starting to look terribly hazy at the moment. Though it wasn’t my first choice school, I can admit that I felt a little disappointed when I found out yesterday that I was rejected from San Diego State.
I thought, “How could that be? My grades are nearly flawless!”
When it comes down to it, it does not matter which school I end up attending. What matters is what I decide to do with my time while I am there. Which leads me to admit that I really have no idea what I’ll be doing five years from now, let alone one year.
But in fact, I know this detour is probably for the best and it could be even better than what I had previously planned for myself.
I first saw this quote featured on a former classmate’s MySpace profile. Since the moment I read it a few months ago, I have been mesmerized by the profound reality it presents. In my opinion, this mere 17-word grouping perfectly describes the frailty of human planning and anticipation.
Let’s imagine that someone asks, “What do you see yourself doing five years from now?” I am certain that, more often than not, the answer, even though honest and sincere at the time, would not be exactly what that person is doing in the future.
Before this becomes misleading, let me say that this inaccuracy is not preventable.
The reason for the false prediction is not because the person was unsure of what they wanted. It was because as events unfold, it becomes apparent that life never goes as planned. But whether the unexpected events bring tragedy or triumph, it is most important to be accepting of these life detours.
Truthfully, I had this big picture in my head with all the little details about how my life would be after I transferred from Contra Costa College to a California State University. In fact, I’ve constantly claimed that I “knew” I would go to a school in Southern California. But as expected, things are starting to look terribly hazy at the moment. Though it wasn’t my first choice school, I can admit that I felt a little disappointed when I found out yesterday that I was rejected from San Diego State.
I thought, “How could that be? My grades are nearly flawless!”
When it comes down to it, it does not matter which school I end up attending. What matters is what I decide to do with my time while I am there. Which leads me to admit that I really have no idea what I’ll be doing five years from now, let alone one year.
But in fact, I know this detour is probably for the best and it could be even better than what I had previously planned for myself.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Finding My Voice
"You come alive through your writing. But in person, you're just not that convincing."
These words from my friends do not come as a surprise.
Ever since the sixth grade, my journals have been my refuge from the cruel world. Whenever I felt as if I had no friends to confide in, I took comfort in writing. Without this escape from reality, I do not know how I would have gotten through the tough times in my life. But in some strange, twisted way, my attachment with my journals have created an unhealthy level of separation between myself and the way that I communicate.
It's always been a struggle for me to express how I feel through speech. Oftentimes, the message I'm trying to send is misconstrued because I'm more likely to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind rather than thinking about an appropriate response. Because I'm not as fast and witty of a thinker as I'd like to be, I require a few extra moments in order to gather my thoughts. With a journal, this is perfectly possible. Face to face, however, I'm sure that my silence just makes me seem slow.
I envy those that can speak with poignant clarity and authority because of my current inability to demonstrate these qualities. Though I'm told that my voice lacks precision and confidence, I'm sure that eventually, I will be able to speak with conviction.
These words from my friends do not come as a surprise.
Ever since the sixth grade, my journals have been my refuge from the cruel world. Whenever I felt as if I had no friends to confide in, I took comfort in writing. Without this escape from reality, I do not know how I would have gotten through the tough times in my life. But in some strange, twisted way, my attachment with my journals have created an unhealthy level of separation between myself and the way that I communicate.
It's always been a struggle for me to express how I feel through speech. Oftentimes, the message I'm trying to send is misconstrued because I'm more likely to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind rather than thinking about an appropriate response. Because I'm not as fast and witty of a thinker as I'd like to be, I require a few extra moments in order to gather my thoughts. With a journal, this is perfectly possible. Face to face, however, I'm sure that my silence just makes me seem slow.
I envy those that can speak with poignant clarity and authority because of my current inability to demonstrate these qualities. Though I'm told that my voice lacks precision and confidence, I'm sure that eventually, I will be able to speak with conviction.
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