Jump and Touch the Stars

I often think about the fact that the probability of my daydreams turning into reality is the same as that of a 3 year old drawing a straight line with a compass; of parallel lines meeting; of fire melting.

Hope is knowing logical impossibilities are impossible, but never surrendering to it's impossibility regardless.

You see, my grandmother's ability to manifest into existence the desires of her heart have proven to be outstanding. It has defied a plethora of rules the universe abides. 

When my late grandfather was given only 2 months to live by the oncologist who diagnosed him with Stage 4 throat cancer, my grandmother's litanies prolonged his life for 2 years more.

My aunt's umbilical cord was wrapped around my cousin's throat during her 9th month in her mother's womb. The doctors said she wouldn't be able to make it. But my grandmother's gut knew better. Sophia's now 10.

My 80 year old grandma saw Namjoon today, and she instantly fell inlove with him. Our hearts beat the same rhythm, I told her. I, too, have a soft spot for the man who has a habit of framing his eyes with his elegant slender fingers. 

She liked him for his dimples, I loved him for his thoughts.

We were sitting at the breakfast nook of her house, talking about my break-up. She gave me a glass of water, held my hand and smiled before saying that God had plans for me. I nodded, not in agreement, no. I'm a firm believer of agency and choice. I nodded because I didn't have it in me to look into her deep set eyes and tell her that I refused to rely on instincts and prophecies; that statistics and patterns were my religion. 

But rationality isn't formidable, and grandmothers are notorious for radiating such incredible warmth capable of waning even the strongest of resolves with just the smallest show of affection. 

So I bit my tongue and pretended I believed when she told me she had a feeling somewhere down the line, stars would align and that articulate, confident man will enter my life.