I wouldn’t call myself superstitious. But when it comes to good omen and bad omen, what I am is a skeptic. Too afraid to swing either way, sitting on the fence, I choose sides with convenience. What I am is wide-eyed with wonder, when something intriguing happens to pass me by. Especially if it appears out of the blue, making an obtuse connection to an idea tucked away in the recesses of my mind. When it suits me, I’m all ears. And hopeful. And I cling on to signs like my life depends on it.
Like when a friend casually mentioned to me how cheap it is to backpack in Europe and slum it out, staying in student hostels and dormitories.
Like when I made hummus this weekend, and the husband poured me a nice big glass of wheat beer, and thought aloud: “Man, imagine what it must be like in the west with so many kinds of beer to choose from.”
Like when I logged in to Google reader this morning and saw one of my most favourite artists had posted this, taking my breath away instantly.
Like when a friend who lives in Dublin, whom I haven’t chatted with in forever, caught me on fb and chatted me up about how Europe is so wonderful this time of year and how cheap it can be.
Like when he went on to give me a pep talk about how one only lives once, about how the twenties must be enjoyed while they last.
Like when my mother-in-law told me one of her sisters just visited Spain and loved it.
Call me wishful, but to me they’re all signs. And suddenly they’re all over. Catching me by surprise, hitting me square in the face, making me smile stupidly. But above all, making me cling on desperately. Could it be that my paper napkins dreams are about to come true?