Normal people don’t have destinies.
Naturally, I refrain from telling my clients that, upon their arrival at my establishment, I assume a solemn demeanor, graciously accepting the required payment of 5000 Naira, either in cash or through card transactions. With an unwarranted sense of reverence, I fixate upon the emptiness that lies ahead in their yet-to-be-formed futures. In an unending procession of days, stretching into years, they arrive—men of commerce and women balancing the roles of motherhood and the career field, diligent workers confined to mailrooms, dentists shaping smiles, and hairstylists crafting fashionable transformations. Among them, the political minds and the seekers of divine understanding converge as well. The youthful and the aged, the ones brimming with aspirations and those cloaked in despair, the doubters and the unwavering faithful. They all converge, their presence an unchanging constant.
“Can you tell me my future?” They ask me.
They inquire, their curiosity tinged with anticipation.
“Perhaps,” I respond, adorned with a gentle smile. A sense of humility is necessary, for arrogance befits no psychic. “Allow me to examine your hand.”
Gently grasping their wrist, I squint my eyes and concentrate. “Ah,” I exclaim, relishing the opportunity to engage in a theatrical display. I deliberate and hesitate over the seemingly insignificant ridges and folds etched into their skin—merely markings that serve as conduits for perspiration and dust to gather. “Ah.” I often repeat this routine for added dramatic effect. After all, for a sum of 5000 Naira, one does not expect instantaneous gratification.
Amidst a backdrop of unsettled patrons, I find myself observing their discomfort before me.
I read the only legible parts of them, which are their presents and their pasts.
The narratives of their present realities and the echoes of their past experiences. “Through your heartline,” I divulge, addressing the man whose finger bears the imprint of a wedding ring, “I glean a restlessness that resides within you.”
“You have struggled to find romantic fulfilment in your partner, and you worry that you will never be satisfied.” To the woman whose cell phone is always ringing in her bag, I say: “Look here. Your lifeline is weak. This means that you lack independence and are yearning for autonomy. Your life is not your own right now, and you’re worried that you’ll never get it back.”
Anxiety perpetually clings to the human experience. Seeking solace, they flock to me, yearning for their fears to be acknowledged and validated through my spoken words.
They yearn for me to articulate their fears and subsequently provide them with glimpses of hopeful resolutions. “Though these times may be marked by turbulence, they are transient,” I assure them. “Your fortunes are on the cusp of a swift transformation.” “The end to your suffering draws near.”
In exchange for a fee of 5000 Naira, they seek solace in the hope I bestow upon them, and I, in turn, willingly comply with their desires.
Normal people don’t have destinies because they have choices. They are presented with an infinite number of decisions, which unfurl an infinite number of paths. Paths that run through time like the roots of a tree that won’t stop growing. Paths with millions of interconnecting nodes and nodules. Paths that can take them anywhere. For most, there is no grand design nor divine intervention fuelling their trajectory; there is only the physics of life. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion. In the same way, people tend to keep on living, making choices, designing their own futures.
Ordinary individuals do not possess fixed destinies, and this is actually a blessing. It means that nothing is beyond the realm of possibility. Literally anything can occur. That’s why there are instances when my “fortunes” seemingly materialize. Customers come back to me, convinced that I had accurately foretold their future, when in truth, their path unfolded as a result of the specific choices they made, aligning with the destinations I had mentioned.
It goes without saying that that’s good news for me, because it means that they will come back again and pay another 5000 Naira for another educated guess.
Normal people don’t have destinies.
But you, Customer 12, are different.
As Customer 11 bids farewell, you enter my realm. Without the need for inquiry, I am aware that you haven’t scheduled an appointment. I possess the gift of sight, yet in this instance I don’t need to use it because I have a watch. A swift glance at its face reveals the nearing of one o’clock, a reminder that I refrain from accommodating anyone before my lunch break. But, I settle for a simple inquiry: “How may I be of assistance to you?” Suppressing any hints of irritation, I resist thoughts of the roasted plantain and pepper sauce patiently awaiting me, concealed beneath my desk and warmed in the microwave.
You express your desire for a palm reading, and I promptly inform you of the fee: “5000 Naira, payable in cash or card?”
As you fumble for your wallet, I seize the opportunity to assess you. Within the confines of my mind, I navigate through a standardized checklist, seeking to gather as much information as possible. After all, a credible fortune relies on knowledge, and I endeavor to gather all that I can uncover.
You are male. Estimating your age is a bit challenging, as you could be in your thirties or forties, though there’s a possibility of appearing younger despite potential seniority. Your attire is rather unremarkable, featuring a white t-shirt, black trousers, and black tennis shoes. I notice the absence of any jewelry adorning your person, and there are no visible marks of scars or tattoos.
Ah, Customer 12, I silently remark to myself, you seem determined to not make this easy for me.
You are completely and utterly unremarkable.
That, in itself, should have been a sign.
With cash in hand, you pay, preventing me from glimpsing the name on your credit card. As we proceed through the door into the divination chamber, I expect the usual reaction from customers to ensue : the customary “oohs” and “ahhs” over the lavish decor. Swaths of dark velvet and damask wallpaper that adorn the space, accompanied by drapes, beads, crystals, and an assortment of intriguing trinkets.
However, your response seems rather underwhelming. I wonder if you perceive the divination chamber for what it truly is—a storage room tucked away at the rear of a storefront in a strip mall—rather than an extravagant sanctuary enveloping the mystical realm of fate. Nonetheless, if you hold any skepticism regarding my powers, you keep it concealed, allowing me to commence with the well-rehearsed script.
“Please have a seat,” I rasp, adopting a huskier tone. It appears that everyone expects a psychic to possess such a voice, so I oblige by lowering mine by a tone or two, providing the people with what they desire.
You sit across from me at the table and stretch out your palm before I ask for it. New customers are usually a little nervous, tentative in the face of astrological wisdom, but not you. You seem like you know what you’re doing. When I take your hand in mine, your skin feels dry and cool.
“This isn’t your first reading,” I announce, trying to earn some premonition brownie points with you. The sooner I can convince you of my psychic aptitudes, the better.
You rebuff me with a twitch of your lips. “Yes, it is,” you say. I can already tell that you will be difficult to deceive, and I wish that you would just play along. Normal people usually want to believe.
I take your nonchalance as proof that you are lying. Fine, be that way. It’s your 5000 Naira you’re wasting. I try to redirect: “What do you hope to learn today? Is there anything specific that you seek to find?”
“No, not really.”
“Ah, forgive me for the probing, but I find myself compelled to dig deeper”. In an earnest endeavor to appear sincere, I widen my eyes, hoping to convey my genuine interest. “Are you certain? Not a single query burdens your mind, longing for resolution? No uncertainties that hinder your path? If I am aware of what to seek within your palm, it will be easier for me to decipher its messages. The future, you see, is never a straightforward path. Even for those of us who possess the ability to glimpse its contours, it remains enigmatic and veiled.” Silently, I implore you, pleading for the tiniest morsel of information, anything that may guide me in this endeavor.
You offer me a smile, though it carries a tinge of sadness, and for a fleeting moment, I feel a glimmer of hope. At times, gentle prodding is necessary to coax people into revealing their innermost concerns. Could it be that you are going through a divorce, facing financial turmoil, or contending with a worrisome diagnosis? Holding my breath, I anticipate your response, only to be met with disappointment.
“I don’t think you’ll encounter much difficulty with mine,” you reassure me.
Yet another dead end. How delightful.
I strive to contain my exasperation, refraining from rolling my eyes in your presence.
“Very well then. I shall do my utmost.”
Normal people don’t have destinies, they have emotions and experiences. These emotions surge like waves, resemble expansive oceans, flow with currents, and harmonize into a symphony of experiences. That’s what we psychics try to read, we strive to interpret and decipher this complex tapestry. Therefore, as I extend my hand towards your open palm, I mentally prepare myself to immerse in the familiar deluge. I brace myself to be enveloped by the entirety of your past, present, and potential future emotions. This immersion, an amalgamation of coherent and tangential energies, becomes the closest semblance of destiny I have ever encountered.
With bated breath, I anticipate the flood of sensations.
Yet, I hold my breath and wait for it. But when I touch you, I feel only one thing.
Frustration.
It starts in the pit of my stomach and builds. Builds until I want to scream, until I’m trembling, until every shred of me seems to become it. It’s an infection, this frustration, bacterial, viral, feral. It moves into my body, and it takes up residence there. It wraps around my insides like a snake waiting to feed.
It hurts.
Involuntarily, I gasp, unable to contain the reaction. However, you remain unperturbed, showing no sign of surprise. An instinctual impulse compels me to grasp your hand firmly, refusing to let go. In that very moment, clinging onto you becomes the sole barrier preventing me from unraveling, preventing me from pulling at my hair or grinding my teeth to the point of fracture. Holding onto you becomes my refuge, warding off the urge to smash my face against the table, to unleash the pressure by tearing open my skull and letting this suffocating frustration dissipate. The fear lingers within me that releasing my hold on you might lead to a loss of self, and thus, I dig my nails deeper into your wrist, desperate to maintain that connection, even as it draws forth a trickle of blood.
Normal people don’t have destinies because they have choices.
Normal people don’t have destinies and that is a blessing, because destiny is tyranny reified and deified. It’s powerlessness and anguish. It’s the violent eradication of choice.
Normal people don’t have destinies, Customer 12, but you do.
Within your existence, possibilities have been nonexistent, replaced solely by certainties. You have collided repeatedly with the predetermined path set before you, causing your desires to bloom into bruises that mark you a somber shade of black and blue. With each step you take, resistance meets you, a force that bears down upon you until weariness settles deep within. It tightens its grip, constricting your being, a stranglehold that persists and shall persist, until it subdues you completely.
Every action you have taken, every step you have traversed, has unfolded according to some grand design. What makes it even more unbearable is that you are acutely aware of this truth. You are meant to inhabit this very moment, and that awareness haunts you. It is destined for you to experience the pain, to bleed, and you grapple with that knowledge. Following this encounter, you will depart, guided by an inner knowing that wherever you venture next will be another predetermined destination. With each transition from one seemingly rightful place to another, a question gradually unfurls within you: if every facet of your existence is preordained, can any fragment of your being genuinely be attributed to you?
Can any flicker of joy that ignites within you be considered truly genuine? Is any emotion that washes over you, any passing whim or fleeting thought, a product of spontaneity? Or has every facet of your being been predetermined by an invisible, unfathomable force?
While ordinary individuals may not possess destinies, you, on the other hand, find yourself entangled within the intricate web of fate. Consequently, the boundaries between your own essence and the hand of destiny remain forever blurred, leaving you bereft of the knowledge of where one ends and the other begins.
The love you have for your wife is complicated and filled with uncertainty. Is it a genuine emotion that comes from your own heart, or is it a love that was destined to be? While you do have deep affection for her, there will come a time when doubts creep into your thoughts. You may worry that you are preventing her from experiencing a more authentic and reciprocated love, the kind she truly deserves.
As these doubts consume you to the point that you can’t even stand to touch her, a new question arises. Are you the cause of harm in your marriage, or is this turmoil just another result of fate’s unyielding hold?
There will come a time when thoughts of ending your own life will enter your mind. However, deep down, you will understand that taking such a drastic step will not bring you escape, comfort, or rebellion. Whether you choose to go through with it or not, you will be aware that both living and dying have been predetermined by fate. Therefore, you will find it futile to even consider it.
Instead, each morning you will awaken and carry out whatever it is you are destined to do. You will continue on, day after day, without certainty. Doubt will permeate your existence, and you will never fully trust yourself. The only thing you will be certain of is that you have a predetermined destiny, which ultimately leaves you uncertain about everything else in life.
As you reluctantly release your grasp on my wrist, I am left trembling, the intensity of the moment still coursing through me. Surprisingly, your touch carries a gentle tenderness, and as our eyes meet, I detect a sense of remorse in your expression. “I’m sorry,” you utter, and I can sense the sincerity in your words. Deep down, you were aware that this outcome was inevitable, yet you were compelled to follow this path without any alternative options.
