Palm Panaroia.

I am selective in my superstitions. Things have to simmer in my head for a while before they become things I believe in. I have never warmed to tarot cards or tea leaves. Black cats and ladders, however, I do set store by. I don’t believe in love at first sight – for me, at least. Not because I don’t want to, and I think its stupid, but because I fall in love with conversations, and words. Those don’t happen at first sight. I believe in jinxes and curses, and have a unhealthy fear of what MommyMathews and I coined as "boogie", and have been known to throw out treasured belongings given by people who don’t like me anymore – and that’s putting it mildly. I then spend a great deal of time convincing the people who do love me to replace those belongings. More often than not, it works. I believe in black dogs and The Grim, and that’s only because I spent too many years being an ardent Harry Potter fan. I dont believe in blind faith, or any kind of religious faith. I believe in the peace that comes from sitting in a quiet, beautiful place. I don’t believe it has to be a church or a temple.

A week ago, my palm was read. I scoffed and smirked while numerous people had their palms read before me, and I made a smart-assed comment about how I had more faith in my gin and tonic than in my palm, and I gulped determinedly to prove my point, but then I watched as the palm reader revealed secrets he wasn’t supposed to know, things he shouldn’t have known, things that few knew. Things that were too big for guesswork. So, I put my palm in his.

I spent most of my years being a tad smug about my hands with their long fingers. The hands that I always thanked DaddyMathews for, the hands that SS once drew (although I never saw that). That night, I wished I had anyone else’s hands but mine. Chubby hands, stubby fingers, wrinkled palms, anything but mine.

A week of agonising and imagining, and suddenly, in a flash of 2am clarity, I realised the mistake I’m sure to make. I am so convinced that my future will be the one etched out on my palm, that I’ll probably make sure that I do everything according to my palm, just so I can say, "See, my palm was right!" When in all honesty, except for a few things here and there, I would like to do everything and anything in my power to prove my palm wrong. It is a palm of mistakes, of impulsive decisions, of intricate loves. It is a palm of some strife and a lot of struggle, a palm fraught with a litany of not-niceness and sleepless worried nights.

And then another moment of clarity came along. This one at a more acceptable hour, in a whoosh of cigarette smoke and coffee, and raindrops on leaves.

Palms change. Lines change.
Change is more certain than lines on a palm.


One thought on “Palm Panaroia.

  1. So true! talking about change, the thing that worries me is the fear of it all. New places, new people and new feelings that develop over time. Some people do adapt, and I like to consider myself one of them, but how do I help the person who is not used to change and afraid to do so, in order to make him or her comfortable with the new environment? come back home soon! x

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