Pitonisa
I grew up in South America, in one of the wildest countries down there. I was born and grew up down there, so a big chunk of me is a Latino. A red haired Latino, cool and sweet as hell. But more about me at some other time.
Fortune Tellers over there are as common as sweet ice tea in North Carolina. They will read your palm, tobacco, tea leaves, cards and whatever the fuck they find suitable to get some cash out of you. I myself have been twice to this people, and I've known of my Mom and both sisters of going a couple times. Some of these fortune tellers are as full of shit as a carnival restroom at the end of the day, and some others have brown eyes -the color of healthy shit- due to the amount of bullshit that comes out of their mouths and their credible eyes. The rest will just tell you pretty standard stuff that eventually will be right due to life's odds: you'll get some money soon; you'll take a short trip in the near future; you're going to meet someone that blah blah blah; Someone you know will pass away; do you know Jose, Julio, Maria or Antonio? you'll meet them soon.
But sometimes you'll stumble into someone who somehow plays all the right tunes. In this case, my sister did and the Fortune Teller, or "Pitonisa" as they are refer to, spoke a lot about me. Yes me, your Jean-Francois who blogs every now and then about this and that. According to my sister, half the conversation was this woman talking about me out of the blue, and not much about my sister -she was kind of pist when she called to tell me: "I went there and she spoke only of you... next time I'll make you pay!".
This woman didn't know my sister, nor me. Didn't use any cards or tobacco or any of that, she just started talking and talking. And Jean-Francois' life came out early in the conversation and stayed there. She very much described me, what's going on with me, and how this year had been to me. Surprisingly enough, she repeated pretty much what another pitonisa said to my younger sister a couple years ago (I know what you're thinking right now, a family of crazy people going to fortune tellers. I'll just say that it is part of the culture where I grew up in, and just as my red hair is part of who I am without defining me, the same can be said of the whole pitonisa stuff).
I've thinking about what this woman said, trying to put it together with what I have in my fucked-up head, to see if I can get an answer to my questions, some direction for where I'm heading to, and how I want to get there.
And I don't know.
I know what I want, but just don't know how to get there (hey, that sounded very clever). I've been doing a lot of thinking but. . . the answers are not coming. Time is passing by and the more time it elapses, the harder the decisions will be.
What the pitonisa said is not definitive nor crystal clear, yet interesting. At the end I believe that I'll have to make my own decisions, pave my own road ahead, or carve my own stone grave. No matter how much the future is predicted, it lies ultimately on our own hands.
Fortune Tellers over there are as common as sweet ice tea in North Carolina. They will read your palm, tobacco, tea leaves, cards and whatever the fuck they find suitable to get some cash out of you. I myself have been twice to this people, and I've known of my Mom and both sisters of going a couple times. Some of these fortune tellers are as full of shit as a carnival restroom at the end of the day, and some others have brown eyes -the color of healthy shit- due to the amount of bullshit that comes out of their mouths and their credible eyes. The rest will just tell you pretty standard stuff that eventually will be right due to life's odds: you'll get some money soon; you'll take a short trip in the near future; you're going to meet someone that blah blah blah; Someone you know will pass away; do you know Jose, Julio, Maria or Antonio? you'll meet them soon.
But sometimes you'll stumble into someone who somehow plays all the right tunes. In this case, my sister did and the Fortune Teller, or "Pitonisa" as they are refer to, spoke a lot about me. Yes me, your Jean-Francois who blogs every now and then about this and that. According to my sister, half the conversation was this woman talking about me out of the blue, and not much about my sister -she was kind of pist when she called to tell me: "I went there and she spoke only of you... next time I'll make you pay!".
This woman didn't know my sister, nor me. Didn't use any cards or tobacco or any of that, she just started talking and talking. And Jean-Francois' life came out early in the conversation and stayed there. She very much described me, what's going on with me, and how this year had been to me. Surprisingly enough, she repeated pretty much what another pitonisa said to my younger sister a couple years ago (I know what you're thinking right now, a family of crazy people going to fortune tellers. I'll just say that it is part of the culture where I grew up in, and just as my red hair is part of who I am without defining me, the same can be said of the whole pitonisa stuff).
I've thinking about what this woman said, trying to put it together with what I have in my fucked-up head, to see if I can get an answer to my questions, some direction for where I'm heading to, and how I want to get there.
And I don't know.
I know what I want, but just don't know how to get there (hey, that sounded very clever). I've been doing a lot of thinking but. . . the answers are not coming. Time is passing by and the more time it elapses, the harder the decisions will be.
What the pitonisa said is not definitive nor crystal clear, yet interesting. At the end I believe that I'll have to make my own decisions, pave my own road ahead, or carve my own stone grave. No matter how much the future is predicted, it lies ultimately on our own hands.
Jean-Francois was drunk at 8:14 PM
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