We were standing in my mother’s kitchen. It was before they remodeled the downstairs and the appliances were that awful harvest-gold colour which was so popular in the `80s. I don’t even remember who my friend was, but we stood there amongst all that harvest gold and played pretend of the utmost powerful. We played that famous childhood game all children think they’re good at – predict the future. Why it happened in the kitchen? I can only guess it’s because so much happens in the kitchen when you’re young. That room is filled with so much honesty. Conversations over the dinner table or the private meeting place to speak. Revelations in baking and cooking, or the understanding of how horribly clumsy you are with knives. It was in this hallowed location me and my friend thought we would predict when we would die. I would always commit so fully to these childhood games. Childish games. I loved trying to predict the future, naturally. It was the one thing I feared. It was so out of my control and it’s all that looms before you when you’re 10. The past is something that happened only yesterday, not yet 20 years ago. When I was 10, I found if you thought hard enough and lost yourself in your fuzzy thoughts, you could forget all about yourself. Then a calmness washed over you. And for some reason, some strange reason, if you listened and stayed still long enough in that calmness, answers would just appear amongst the random thoughts. That day my answer was 36. When I was ten or twelve or somewhere in that range, I felt 36 would be as old as I would ever get. That was my future. Or at least, that’s what the universe told me.
I have always remembered that day. I have always wondered about it because it felt so real – like the answer sought to find me. And it became even more surprising over time as I learned that it would be in 2012 that I would be 36. It was in 2000 that I learned the importance of 2012. So for the past 12 years I have wondered what would happen. For the past 25 years I have wondered what would happen. And today I have a feeling much like I did that day in the `80s. Has it all come down to this? Is this my year? Was I really that in tune to the universe when I was a pre-pubescent child? Or is this disease that is quickly crippling me the universe’s answer to a shot in the dark a young child had a hundred years ago? For the past 25 years that I have remembered this answer, have I been the one – has my brain been the source – have me and my brain been creating something inside of me that would have me die off at 36 because I listened to a random thought in the stillness of the universe when I was standing in my mother’s kitchen thinking I was powerful enough to predict the future? Have I been making choices my whole life that would lead me to some cataclysmic end? The brain is an amazing device. I guess I have to wait and see what happens. But I truly hope I am not an oracle.