The Sign: So Very High School
Most of us may have gone through that period when we'd ask for signs, particularly when it comes to matters of the heart. You know what that's like--you're aching over this one secret infatuation who either isn't aware of or is oblivious to your longing. When one night, you look up to the star-filled heavens and ask for it.
The sign.
The crappy thing about signs is that you have to be specific, from when's to how's, as well as the course of action to take should the sign manifest itself. There's this mystical contract that takes place, pretty much like the Law of Attraction. Unfortunately, Fate can be playful.
About five years ago, I asked for a sign. I said, "If, in 20 counts, a black L300 van passes by, I'll do (insert action)." I chose a black L300 because I figured that would have been rare, and the lesser the probability of something happening, the more "meant to be."
So I began counting, at first in second-long beats, only to slow down as 20 approached. I was buying time, as much as I could.
At the count of 20, nothing. No black van. Not even a bicycle. Devastated, I continued to count at the slowest pace my patience could muster. 21...22...23...24... By the 25th count, there it was. A black L300 van arrives, parking right across the street.
So here's where the contract was broken. I went over 20 counts, and the black van parks instead of passes by. Hell, I thought, what the f*** do I do now?
But I decided to (insert action) anyway, which didn't bring me a happy ending, but handed me one great lesson--a version of the sign is not THE sign.
The sign.
The crappy thing about signs is that you have to be specific, from when's to how's, as well as the course of action to take should the sign manifest itself. There's this mystical contract that takes place, pretty much like the Law of Attraction. Unfortunately, Fate can be playful.
About five years ago, I asked for a sign. I said, "If, in 20 counts, a black L300 van passes by, I'll do (insert action)." I chose a black L300 because I figured that would have been rare, and the lesser the probability of something happening, the more "meant to be."
So I began counting, at first in second-long beats, only to slow down as 20 approached. I was buying time, as much as I could.
At the count of 20, nothing. No black van. Not even a bicycle. Devastated, I continued to count at the slowest pace my patience could muster. 21...22...23...24... By the 25th count, there it was. A black L300 van arrives, parking right across the street.
So here's where the contract was broken. I went over 20 counts, and the black van parks instead of passes by. Hell, I thought, what the f*** do I do now?
But I decided to (insert action) anyway, which didn't bring me a happy ending, but handed me one great lesson--a version of the sign is not THE sign.
Comments
me too guilty rin, two days ago!
well sometimes signs are "signs" that we are starting to fool ourselves. we start to believe in things that are not meant to happen. huhu
;p
OK, I was presented with (an unwished for) sign recently...the person that I am seeing now made me realize that I liked the person I was seeing before. :(
davenport... hehehe, I'm mulling over a sign right now!
kalansay... totoo 'yan. :)
bastard... it's funny how we cheat sometimes. :)
rachelle... like I said, I think he's still fumbling. :)