A Loverless Fate - Entry 1

When all of us are born, we have writing on the inside of each of our middle fingers. On the right hand is our name, and on the left hand is the name of our future lover. If there is no name, our lover hasn’t been born yet, or our lover is dead.

As a young girl, I envied the girls who’d share the names of their lovers with each other; my left middle finger had no name. They typically say that you should have the name of your lover by the age of 8, and that was if you were a boy. Here I am a 21 year old girl with no name of a lover. My lover is dead, and I’ll never know who they were because I never saw their name. Every name is unique, so you could find your lover easily. They tell you not to though; they say it messes up how fate works. Not that that even applies to me. I have no lover. I will never be whole. I will never have kids. I will never experience love besides that of friendship and my family. I just wish we could choose, you know.

Other girls don’t know how it feels to fall for guy after guy; they know there’s someone just right for them waiting. I don’t have that luxury, so my heart likes guy after guy. Nothing comes of it because they have names on their fingers and to reject a name would be preposterous. I have yet to meet someone like me. I just really wish I could because maybe, just maybe, I could feel like someone understands.

At least today is a good day. The sky is grey, and the rain is calming. The city always looks beautiful outside my window on rainy days. The rain makes the trees green and the glow of the signs are more piercing than before. The road is even blacker and looks crisp while the yellow lines are brighter. Sure the sky may be grey, but everything else is so much brighter and beautiful. It’s calming. It’s the kind of day perfect for a hot cup of passion tea and a book.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. It’s not like I’ll have anyone to give it to. I won’t have anyone to read it because I’ll never have kids, but maybe, it’s a way to make myself feel special or maybe even more normal. So I’m just going to write about what happens in my abnormal, lonely life. So here it goes.

It’s April 28th, and I walk outside. Step into the “real world” and out of my “cave”. Everyone looks rushed and seems to know where they’re headed. I’m here spinning in circles like some sort of child in my yellow raincoat and hat. I probably should care that I’m getting strange looks, but I don’t have anything to lose. All I have to worry about is working and feeding myself and Francis, my cat. Plus, it’s fun to dance in the rain; they’ll forget about me anyw — BAM! “Ouch!”

“Are you dead from the neck up? Frolicking around in pouring rain,” says a tall man with piercing green eyes and dark, curly hair.

“I — I wasn’t expected to run into anyone. The street was clear, and I thought my yellow jacket would be easy for any person to avoid.”

“Clearly not,” he replies frustrated and dripping from the rain.

“Where’s your umbrella?” I ask.

“I don’t have one! This is why I’m in such a hurry!” he says upset.

“I don’t need mine,” I say pointing to my hat and attire.

“Well, at least you know how to properly make up for your chaos. I swear you Americans are full of trouble. Why would you even travel to another country? Everyone knows the chances of finding your lover is slim. Unless you're the type that specifically is seeking yours out?” he says mockingly.

“I am definitely not that kind of person! How dare you insult me like that? You don’t even know me,” I say offended.

“Oh really, prove that you aren’t one,” he says challenging me.

“I have nothing to prove to you. Plus, even if Americans are “full of trouble”, at least we aren’t rude like you,” I say firmly. I shove the umbrella into him, and he looks shocked. Then, I stomp off to the tea just a few shops down. The bell rings upon my entrance. It’s a sound I’m all too familiar with for just being here for a couple of months.

“Back so soon,” says Melka, the owner of the shop. “I think I’m becoming a little too familiar with you, my child.”

“I could say the same. I have to visit often; you’re my closest friend so far.”

“No luck in the friend department yet. Hmm,” she frowns and continues, “I’m actually holding a little tea workshop for those wanting to make their own blends. You should come.”

“Isn’t that kind of a grandma thing?”

She chuckles and says, “Most grandmas already know how to make their own tea blends, but we get a couple. I swear it’s typically young people.”

“Typically?”

“I promise. I mean every once in a while we’ll get an old crowd, but usually, they’re in their 20-30s.”

“Okay, whatever you say Melka.”

“Haha, passion tea again, huh?”

“What it’s my favorite?”

“People probably think you’re stressed all the time.”

“Who says I’m not? Also, it’s not like anyone sees me besides you.”

“What does a young person like you have to stress about? This is a time of youth and soon to be love. Relax a bit.”

“Only if it were that simple.”

“It is. Here’s your tea child. Don’t forget about the workshop. It would do you some good to socialize. Maybe then you won’t be so grumpy.”

“Alright then,” I say with a smile. “I’ll be sure to be there.” I close the door to the quaint shop and set off back home with my box of tea wrapped up with a waterproof cloth.

Melka sure is a character. She’s always sure to tell her opinion; it’s annoying yet nice. It makes me feel at home. It is kind of sad how she’s my only friend here, but at least she’s a good one.

I finally reach home and see Francis. She’s a white Van cat with heterochromia; she has one blue and one green eye. She’s a pretty thing, and she definitely cost a pretty penny. She’s not too fussy, so she was definitely worth it. I’m actually more of a dog person though, but I work from home for the most part. Dogs need too much attention and are too distracting, so a cat was the obvious choice for a much-needed companion.

I start to boil some water in a pot for my tea, and then, I go off to find a good book for inspiration. I wish I could write beautifully like the authors I read from, but I don’t have a talent for it. I write and illustrate children’s books, and I have lots of successful books. I just can’t write anything besides children’s books. I am very successful actually with the writing and illustrating I do, so I can’t complain. I’ve never spent any time being distracted by a future lover, so I just imagined different lives for myself. I put all my whimsical, childhood fantasies into books, and kids love it. I’m glad at least my greatest grief gives me my greatest strength.

People are normally not as creative because their lives are practically set out for them. Women typically only work until they’re 25 because they’re usually married by then. I guess because of that, they haven’t strived for success like me. I have to depend on myself, so I’ve worked hard to strengthen my skills. The only women who even lead in different countries are married to high-powered men. I really wish the loverless would be represented. There’s supposed to be about 100,000 people without future lovers, and usually, we are cast aside.

We bring shame to our families and culture because we won’t bring a new generation. Some kids are even hidden away from others until a name shows, and if one doesn’t, they’re disowned. This is typically in royalty or high powered families. You won’t know about a royal child sometimes until the age of 13. It makes it really confusing. I, however, was very lucky to have, well, hippie parents.

My parents love and accept me, but I’m not going to lie. I can see the pain in their eyes when they look at me. It’s probably their sadness of knowing I won’t ever have love like them and will live a very solitary life. Once I turned 12, they constantly bought me books for education instead of books about love and fantasy. They started treating me more like a boy. I guess they were concerned with my future livelihood, but I’m grateful because I’ve gotten where I am today because of them. I finished high school years early as well as college, and I now have a successful career earlier than men even would usually. I can buy practically anything I want, live in a fancy home and travel easily. Money may not fill the void of love, but it helps more than anything else could.

Most people fill their lives up with love, church and family, but I can’t. Sure, I could go to church, but they’d just look down on me and see me as cursed. Born without a lover basically means I’m being punished for having an evil heart. I do believe in a God, but I don’t believe in the churches we have. They only have love for those who live full lives or those who fulfill the purpose of life, something I can’t do.

When people ask me about my empty finger, I lie. I say that there was a name, but it vanished. They’ll just bow their heads and say, “My condolences to what could have been.” Then, they’ll continue the conversation. If I told them the truth, they’d just try to find a way to leave because they don’t want my “bad luck”. To them, coming in contact with me is like the extreme version of seeing a black cat or walking under a ladder. Most people like me do the same from what I’ve read on anonymous posts online. This is probably why it’s so hard to find people like me; we all lie and pretend. It’s what’s safe. It’s what’s easiest.

The water finally comes to a boil, so I pour a glass of the steaming water and drop the teabag in. When it’s done steeping, I pull out the tea bag and plop it into the trash. Then, I stir the tea and take a sip. The floral tea smells so good, and its fuschia color is so bold and strong. If passion tea was a person, she would be someone who knows where she’s going and who she is. She would dress professionally but with bold colors and patterns, and despite being very eye-catching, she’d be very kind and gentle but not soft-spoken. Her only faults would be that she seems mean because of her outer appearance and that she’s stubborn. Otherwise, she’s perfect, and the kind of person I wish I was, someone who could go out into the world and bring about change. Maybe, I could...I don’t know. Maybe, I could change things for the loverless.

I think we all hang onto a hope that one day we’ll be accepted, but for now, we’ll just be considered unnatural. I don’t understand why we’re just told who our lovers are to be. Why can’t we just find them through trial and error? Is everyone actually happy with their lovers? Is it a guarantee of happiness? Why do some of us not get this happiness? Why are some of us fated lonely? Why would this be a part of the purpose of life? It makes no sense. I always make good choices. I always do what I’m supposed to. Sure, I’m not perfect, but I’m certainly not evil.