Luck of the Draw

Sometimes you didn’t have a choice, you were forced to leave. Luck of the draw they said; you learned to recognize sarcasm a long time ago.

It didn’t matter that you’d just gone through hell and back and had finally returned safely. It didn’t matter that you were gone so long you nearly lost your sense of self along the way. In the big scheme of things, it was a small sacrifice to make.

You were chosen for your sense of humor they said. Or your musical gift…Or your particular ability to listen to people…Or even your pessimism. Whatever it is that you had that they needed at that moment that is why you were chosen. (Un)luckily for you, you fit the profile.( Or the profile fit you depending on how you wanted to see it.)

Sometimes you would try to bargain your way out of it. “Remember last time what happened when you sent me? Remember the mess I left behind?” But you would ultimately know that there was no point in arguing. After all, the mess you left behind might have been the very reason why you had to go back.

So then, you would try and remember what you liked about it. Surely there must have been something positive that would make the journey a little easier…Sure you met some nice folks, rekindled with others, might even have fallen in love once or twice, but most of those individuals if not already back, would be soon and you wouldn’t be here to greet them.

What else?

You had everything you needed here. Animals? Check! Flowers? Check! Oceans? Check! Everything you ever needed to be happy even that perfect cup of coffee? Check! Check! Check!

So you convinced yourself that you could use the experience. Surely, there would be something useful you’d learn along the way. “Better yourself” as they say. You might meet new people, create new relationships and maybe, if you remembered to listen to your gut, recognized old ones.

But was it really worth the pain, the trauma and the confusion? Somehow, you’d convinced yourself that it was. Thank God for momentary insanity and loss of long term memory!

And so it began!

It was like going to a costume shop but with restrictions. “No, you can’t grow blue hair and have cat like pupils!” “Do I have to explain to you again why you can’t go back with blond hair; it’s just genetically impossible in the current situation.” You’d never heard so many sighs in your life and you wouldn’t dare tell them that you loved driving them up the wall. Sometimes your little antics even worked, like that time where you were allowed to go back with two different eye colors. Talk about powers of persuasion. Who said stubbornness was specific to humans?

The first step was easy. Once you had your basic profile, back story, physical appearance and general guidelines all lined up, you could cocoon yourself safely and comfortably for nine months.

And comfortable it was. It felt like being wrapped up in a soft blanket that smelled of love and hope while floating on the calmest and quietest of seas.

You’d heard stories of not so calm situation where you had to share the tiny space with others, sometimes only for a small period time, sometimes glued to them for life (I swear it happened to a friend of a friend of a friend of mine). Sometimes you were even sent back Home before you arrived at your destination (lucky bastards) but that would never happen to you of course. Your waiting periods had always been pretty uneventful.

You dreaded the last trimester. People disturbing your peace by poking you, talking to you as if you’d never been born before, all the while knowing that D-day ( or was B-day?) was getting closer and closer…

The only comfort was the knowledge that the minute you got out of that itty bitty tiny tunnel that squeezed your brain until you thought it would explode, most of your memory of Home would be erased. You would be greeted by an array of bright lights and loud screams and wonder how the hell you got yourself in that situation. “Surely I didn’t choose this, did I?” You couldn’t remember.

You’d have fragments of forgotten memories, and glances of the Home you left behind every now and then but they’d most likely vanish by the time you started to go to what they refer to as School.

Well that’s what the plan usually is anyway. If you forget what you left behind, then it makes the trip a little easier to bear. But if your start to remember what it was like, you can be overwhelmed by an unshakable homesickness that sadly won’t go away until…well until you go Home.

And I’m not ready to go Home.

See here’s the ironic twist on this little journey called Life. It may include an incredible amount of pain, hatred and injustice but it also contains an immeasurable amount of beauty, love and laughter that makes it hard to want to leave. Knowing that when you do leave, you will go back Home, it also makes it easier to stay.

At the end of the day, I figure if I made it this far, I might as well tough it out until I’ve experienced all that I can. And the fact that you got yourself stuck here too makes it worthwhile.

Which reminds me, I might have to rethink my theory on luck and fate; maybe they are interrelated after all. I need to go back to the file where my profile and general guidelines are and look at that big picture again.