Writing the Future

I used to think the future was set in stone, but now I’m not so sure... I was involved in an “incident”. The documents regarding my identity said I was trafficked from Cambodia in a shipping-freight before becoming a human lab-rat… I only know this because I stole the papers before escaping. How did I get out? I don’t know, I forget the details. Whatever they did to me, something changed: I can see the future… and at the time, I saw a way out. I took it, and here I am.

But I must clarify, seeing “the future” implies there is only one… But time is a strange thing. It’s constantly splitting into possibilities and probabilities. It’s like a vortex, constantly pulling you towards something, and away from something else. When I began seeing the future- in all its potentials- I lost my ability to “see the past”. I can’t “re-member” anything, but can “pre-member” everything. I have no idea what yesterday’s dinner was… Who were my parents? I don’t know. But I can tell you that tomorrow the mailman will deliver your package to the wrong apartment. It’ll take 2 weeks to get it all sorted out… But I won’t.

Nobody knows about my abilities but me, and all the better for it. All the futures I see when I “tell someone” end up a horrible, convoluted mess. The government puts me right back into the lab, and uses me as a spy. People think I’m both prophetic, and insane. I become a living target. When I first began “pre-membering”, I saw so many horrible futures. I thought the doom was set in stone… I thought “maybe I can become a prophet, and change it somehow!” Bad idea.

I posted a couple anonymously, but the odd thing about predictions are… They make the event more likely to happen… And they think it’s just a good guess, or coincidence, unless you give them the winning lottery tickets. It’s unfortunate, that people only believe you when there’s something in it for them. On the flipside, when mishaps are avoided, people think you’re a liar. You’re a phony, just trying to get attention… When you do share the potentials, they’re surrounded by so much doubt.

It’s even worse in relationships. I’ve resigned myself to a life devoid of romance, it’s a bit difficult when your partner can never surprise you, and you can only remember them through a series of memos. I’ve thought about it, and lived through millions of hypothetical loves. If I tell them too soon, they think I’m crazy and ghost me. If I tell them later, they feel lied to and betrayed… or like they hit the jackpot.

As soon as they ask me to tell their future, it shatters. I’m living their life for them, but never “making” it good enough. I tell them things they don’t want to hear, especially that “pain is unavoidable in life”- even if you take the best course in all situations. Forget telling them to quit a habit or change a mindset- they are like tumors. They become a part of us we are so attached to, even when they sap away our vitality. Surgery hurts- whether it’s on our bodies, or souls. When I tell them the pain they will face- they become fearful. They don’t want to hear it, but if I don’t tell them, they resent me for “letting this happen to them.” As though I led them right into some trap… Believing I set them up, delivering the punchline to their joke of a life. Inevitably, we break up. Casual dates are way better for a gal in my situation. I can see who will be nice, not-clingy, and move on.. and the ones who will have their heart broken in an instant.

To deal with the loneliness of being “the only one”… I began writing letters to my past and future selves. The results pulled me out of a deep depression. Endless futures of doom were like the storm clouds blocking the sun. They were blown away, and behind them were futures full of balance, and harmony. The future was no longer set in stone. Over time I have become my own best friend. Sometimes I spend so much time talking to “my selves” that I forget there are billions of other people in the world. Even though “we” can’t hang out in-person, at least “we” can connect in heart, and mind.

I have responses from myself in 10, 20, 50 years from various timelines... Only my responsible future-selves respond, so I only see the best responses. My current self sometimes doesn’t know what to think of my future selves- I can clearly see how I got from point A to point B… But I’m often intimidated by myself! I feel like a living wild-card. I have been… or will be? A world traveler, a thrill-seeker, a tatted head-to-toe goth, or a total conservative nerd. But what always amazes me is the heights I can reach when I live with focus. Regardless of which path I choose, my drive determines the outcome. I have come to believe that everyone has the power in them to thrive… and to shape their life and future as though it is a piece of art.

Regardless of the outcome, my common thread is my journal, and writing. Starting it was the best choice I ever made… The journal will one day be published, along with a number of other books all regarded as fiction. People will consider me a somewhat odd, prolific and reclusive person who wears many hats. An author, artist, philosopher and philanthropist.

It’s impossible not to write about all these futures- they are so beautiful, heartbreaking, and fulfilling. Full of twists and turns that can only be summed up in the phrase “fact is stranger than fiction”. My favorite one is titled “Actualize”. It’s about a girl who writes, and the stories happen in her life. I’m still reading it, and writing it at the same time. Sometimes I joke with myself, “that’s plagiarism!” but I suppose the only person you can’t plagiarize is yourself... I guess it would be more like “ghost writing” for my future self!

As I write out the scenarios flipping through my mind, the infinite variables calm to a single one. Whichever one I hold in my focus. Then as I step back out of it, I see futures where my voice is not only heard… but it is loved, appreciated, and changes the world for the better. Infusing it with love, forgiveness, and consideration. Some people think fiction is meaningless. That it’s just stories, or fun and games. But seeing the future, and seeing how it resonates with people… I’ve come to realize that fiction is just an idealized vision of what’s on people’s hearts and minds… Often saying what they’re too scared or shy to say outright.

Sci-Fi embodies people’s hopes for the future. Dystopian and Apocalyptic stories embody people’s fears. Romance embodies people’s dreams and fantasies for what their ideal love would be like… When people write with realism, it shows what they believe “reality” to be- cruel and unforgiving, or a place of beauty and abundance… A stage for Serendipity to work her magic. Sometimes we don’t even know what we want from this life, and through writing in journals, and stories… Those desires come to the surface. They’re a distillery for our souls. Once the process is complete, you’re left with have a potent vial full of hopes, dreams, fears, desires, frustrations, and more.

Sometimes I’ll read through my journal for inspiration, but also to re-member. Writing has provided a haven for my soul, so much so that I often forget about my anomalous nature. Now, even when I am aware of it, I don’t panic like I once did. My early entries are full of confused, chaotic rants. Where my throat and chest burned with rage. I wanted to scream, and burn everything down. The noise in my mind was deafening. But I could see all the consequences- and they paralyzed me. They numbed me. I couldn’t do anything but write long, winded vents. I used to be mad at the people who stole me, and changed me, I would spitefully read the reports over and over again… I have memorized the content like I’ve learned the English language. It took a while to disconnect my identity from the “me” in the papers, which felt as foreign to me as “Stacy in London”. Why did they do those horrible things? Science and Progress, I guess. Maybe the ends do justify the means, maybe they don’t. If anything, I have learned that the world is never black and white. There’s not just grey in the middle, either. There’s an entire spectrum of colors. Nothing is purely good or bad, it just is what it is. Everything happens for the reason that you give it.

I’ve come to forgive the scientists, and now love my abilities like I love all my senses. My future-sight is as dear to me as my binocular vision. If not for them, I wouldn’t be who I am now. I have come to see the girl from Cambodia as a butterfly sees the caterpillar… And as I flap my wings, I see the butterfly effect unfold in all its kaleidoscopic beauty. Every choice leading down its own infinite rabbit-hole. I dance with curiosity, and the endless possibilities which come and go moment-to-moment. Living each day in hope and anticipation... Each present moment empowering the next.