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Rated: 13+ · Monologue · Biographical · #1349754
I found the answer to life in my chinese food.
The Fortune Cookie

Personally, I think there's something to be said for predictability. Every weekend I drive to this great little Chinese take-out joint. I admit, I have a tendency to order the same thing almost every time (General Tso's with pork fried rice and an egg roll), but every so often I surprise myself by straying from the norm, defying my own habitual nature by ordering something different (substitute lo mein for the general tso's). I believe there's a certain level of comfort to be found in the familiar. Perhaps that's the motivation for my weekly pilgrimmage to Chang Ying's.

The reason for the journey, however, is not nearly as important as the outcome. Who knew that a tasty meal of pork fried rice and lo mein would guide me through the long-forgotten path of introspection, ultimately dumping me on the doorstep of self-acceptance? It's certainly not a thought I entertain on a regular basis, or at all to be quite honest with you. It's a bizarre concept, I know, but when you think about it, it does have an air of possibility. After all, we tend to find the face of God in the setting sun and a miracle in the birth of a child. So, who's to say you can't find the answer to life in your take-out? And when I say the answer to life, please try not to misunderstand me. I don't mean the meaning of life as in that whole "why are we here" debate. All I mean is one life, one person, as in the individual who happens upon that great expansive idea that suddenly renders everything insignificant. Everything, that is, except for the truth, the reality of one's existence.

I can see from your expression that you're not following me. That's quite alright. I sometimes have a difficult time understanding myself. Maybe that's the root of my problem, this isolation I've forced upon myself. I don't know. You see, I do like to have a nice meal of chinese food on the weekends, but what I failed to mention earlier is that I always dine alone. Unlike my choice of general tso's, that never changes. Never. I don't really know when or how this all started. I sometimes think I was destined to be alone from the very moment when the sperm collided violently with the helpless, unsuspecting egg. The two halves of me had no clue what they were getting into, what they would one day become. In the very beginning, the possibilities for my life were as beautiful and intricate as a newly spun spider web glistening after a summer's rain. Oh, but they were as fragile as they were beautiful, easily destroyed by a passing breeze.

Unfortunately, I learned at a young age that my life was not one destined for glory, beauty, fame or really any of those wondrous things we hope for as children. We all daydream about the kind of lives we will lead, the people we will become. We tell ourselves that we have convictions, morals, ideas! We will be the ones to change the world. Oh, yes we will! But now a sickening sadness consumes my very bowels. You know the kind. The kind that tells me every day that I have failed in my life's mission. I sit here at my kitchen table slurping up a lo mein noodle, wondering if maybe that's why the chair across from me is perpetually vacant. My life is a failure. I am nothing. I have done nothing significant. These are the thoughts that peck at my brain on a daily basis.

Where is my life going? I have no way of answering that question. Life is unpredictable. I lost my way a long time ago. My dreams slipped right through my fingers. I wasn't holding them tightly enough. I am not proud of who I am, nor am I proud of who I have been. My life has been one plagued by self-doubt, depression, eating disorders, self-imposed isolation, abusive relationships and a myriad of other disastrous issues. These are now the things that occupy my brain matter as I package up what remains of my dinner. They always give me more food than I could possibly eat. Don't they know there are starving children in China?!

Starving. Now that's a little something I know far too much about. I think, now, of all those wasted years I spent trying to be beautiful. I thought if I could change the outside, then maybe I could change the inside too. If only I had put as much energy and devotion into my future, I might have turned out to be a different person. I could have made something of my life. These days I find that I'm simply struggling to exist in this world I've built around myself. Sometimes I wonder what the use in daydreaming ever was. I see myself as a wasted opportunity.

Now I sit here, alone, clutching in my hand my favorite part of my weekend ritual: the fortune cookie. It's just a cookie, you say, yet it feels like so much more to me. It's the edible equivalent to a genie in a bottle. What if what lies inside changes my fortunes? Sometimes, in that instant before I open the cookie, I try to imagine what it will say. Perhaps I will inherit a large sum of money. Or maybe it will tell me that my soul mate is waiting for me around the corner. What if a great career opportunity is out there, just for me?! I can feel the power and excitement course feverishly through my veins as I cradle that little shell of delightful possibilities in the palm of my hand. Inside that nearly stale (yet oddly alluring) cookie lies a wealth of wishes and hopes that keep me salivating with anticipation. I cling tightly to my heart's desires as the cookie crumbles and falls through my fingers. Slowly, I pull the thin strip of paper from the ruins. With bated breath I unfold the paper, reading to myself the future course of my existence.

And that is when it happens. I realize that the most important things in life are not necessarily those that you can reach out and touch with your hands. I have finally found the confirmation of an idea that I once thought only vaguely possible. There, on that seemingly insignificant piece of paper is it, my answer: You lead a useful life no matter what riches are coming to you. I smile to myself as I place my leftovers on the top shelf. As I close the refrigerator door, the little light inside fades, but in my heart a gentle flame has been ignited.
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