Unusually for me, this evening I find myself with what we might call “certainty.” In this case, certainty that the world is nothing but an illusion.
A framed wedding photo on a shelf has me reflecting on a teenage crush. One of many. This one for the American actress Julia Roberts.
Just as I was graduating from university, her face was plastered on billboards nationwide to market the romantic comedy, Notting Hill.
What a funny thing. It wasn’t until my honeymoon that it hit me. I knew I had seen my bride’s face somewhere before. Yes, it was on that poster.
What a strange realisation, you might say. But ours was a rushed introduction and marriage. Before then, I had only ever seen her in hijab, and I had been much too shy for my gaze to linger on her face at length.
Over the years since then, there have been so many strange occurences like this, impossible to explain but by appealing to mere chance or coincidence.
It is reflecting on all of these that has suddenly gifted me this uncanny feeling of certainty. Of course, the astute will chuckle here, recalling the now deleted post I briefly published yesterday.
In that one, I would be found veering towards meltdown as I ran through my three most likely explanations for the weirdness of life. Yesterday’s unsettled unease making way for what should be self-evident by now.
Signs on the horizon and within yourself.
Last modified: 22 September 2024
