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| Can you sense the meaning behind this key? |
"You will
find your way..." It read. A small piece of paper, ready to cut you on the
finger and bruise you both physically and mentally.
"What does that even mean, find a way?" I ask the
friend I had sitting beside me. His head bowed down as he continues to sip the
ridiculous looking balls in his tea.
"Why are you so mad, dude?" he glances back, pausing
from his, otherwise disgusting activity.
"Why do people even make fortune cookies?" I crumple
mine into a tiny knot and proceed to push into a straw.
"You will find your way, hmm... Think of it this way,
man," he responds, his eyes blurry and his speech weary, "My old man,
used to say, just think of it as a message from whoever wrote this shit.
Wouldn't that be more poetic, man?"
I went home
that night thinking with his words circling in my head. My friend had continued
to explain how, perhaps, fortune cookie messages are actually cries for
help.
"Imagine, these people in China or some other third
world country and imagine the factories that they work in. It's hot, it's
stinky, it's damp. Imagine that you have to make these stupid messages and send
it out to the haves, like us. And they are trying to send signals of how bad
their lives are. It could be total bullshit, but it could also be the
truth," he went much too far.
None of it made
sense, did it? The fortune cookie is an American invention. And anyways, they
would not write English messages if they weren't fluent in it. Who would have
thought that obsessing over a message, one that is meant to define our lives on
some term, would lead to this superfluous analysis of the world? Fuck. I
cracked that fortune cookie to find answers, not questions.
*Author owns the right to use the photo above
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