Major Arcana XIII

Today I woke up to a day that wasn't mine. It wasn't what I planned for the future, it wasn't what I anticipated.

Today I woke up to a version of myself that had the wrinkles of her worst fears, texturing my “on-paper” youthful face. 

My eyebrows have risen with every painful encounter, while endless salt dried my skin. My hands are cold with the lack of circulation, my heart’s pieces scattered around. And most importantly, my mind is crowded with the people who aren't even there. 

I'm turning 20, goodbye to my teenage years. You’ve been dead for a while, but the funeral is now leaving you in ashes. 

Goodbye to my youth, who went missing years ago. You are finally getting the memorial you deserve, with your body buried six feet under. 

I had a dream where I controlled everything. My sparkly wand waved around, the sky was bright, my life was alright. I camped under shooting stars, ate my dinner with my wonderful lamp, and opened doors with two words borrowed from Sesame Street. 

I had a dream that was taught to me by many dreams. I learnt from stories where people had magic beans. I learnt from a world that didn't exist, making me think even mine existed.

I made a wish to the willow tree, “please make all my wishes come true,” like it was a novelty. My wish came true, but it dried the ground of the fig tree. 

I wished for a life where I had control over the universe’s autonomy. Then my wish lost its credibility. 

I faced my worst fears lately. It felt like even the willow tree gave up on me.

Or so I thought …

I wished all my wishes to come true.

I wished to love and be loved. I wished to succeed—to change the direction of life. I wished to never be wrong. I wished for control.

The Willow granted every wish exactly as requested, it just didn't arrive the way I had imagined. 

You can't succeed where you stand even if the ground is tough. No path changes direction beneath unmoving feet. The Wishing Willow tells me that my losses are my gains. That I can love with my whole heart, be loved through my whole essence and change the world by moving forward without the people keeping me in a cage disguised as a friendly crowd.

All my wishes are coming true, just not in the way I asked for them. I'm learning, losing control, making mistakes, digging the self I buried years ago to save from my shattered house. It seems that this house built on my childhood’s collapsed floor was a ruin where the cold enters from the empty walls. But I'm seeking warmth now. 

I’ll dig the dried ground of my fig tree if I have to. I'll use my nails if my shovel breaks, and I'll use my tears if the ground never softens up. 

It's a journey of my four seasons, where the rain clouds are just there to nourish my soil, so I can build an even stronger ground for my next home. 

Where the willow tree is no longer needed for the fig tree to bear its fruits. 

by Cansin Mete