Anticipation

It was a ~US$6m lottery draw – the biggest of the year.

It was purely incidental that I was consulting with my fortune teller on the same week. In midst of the reading she interrupted her own sentence to “gift” me with some numbers. I bought those numbers and then some again. Strange how omens are simply innocuous incidences that take prophetic proportions only when one wants them to. So I interpreted everything in my own way while waiting for the draw.

If this was a novel or a play script, I would then get into all sorts of situations while believing that as the future winner of the lottery, all will be resolved in 72 hours. (Un)fortunately, my feet were firmly planted on the ground then. Or as some would know me better, then I must confess that work and other distractions have kept me so occupied that I did not manage to get into other adequate mischief for a decent play script.

However, I was in anticipation the whole time. In fact, I had been so excited over the lottery, I talked about it to my colleagues, to friends, family and even cab drivers. There were so much waiting for me out there – now if only I could win the lottery! Or if only a bag of (real) money will fall off the edge of the sky and into my arms. Anything is possible when one is anticipaying.

Anticipation is such a strong feeling of hope and despair which swings you and still fills you up completely.

The draw date came and went. I asked everyone I knew who bought numbers how they had fared. There were no positive responses at all. I was secretly elated. If no one else about me struck then it had to be me! After all, the pool of good luck is universally shared.

I still did not check the numbers. The anticipation and the expectation have mutated and I could not face its reality. The visualization fulfills me much better than the realization – and so I basked in that - like the so many difficult choices I have made in life so far.

I finally checked the numbers 20 minutes ago. Nothing has changed – except for a new void created by the dissipation of the pseudo joy which anticipation brought.

This somehow takes on a whole Steinbeck novel kind of quality.