Circa 06

Destiny and I sat at the table, sometime in 2006, sipping our coffees, eating our croissants.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant.
“So, what?” I asked her, on my guard. I never liked her conversations which began with that word.
“What do you want to do?” she asked me, nibbling at the crust of her croissant like a dormouse.
“I want to eat my croissant in peace.” I replied, rather rudely. I never liked to talk while I ate, anyway.
She stared at me pointedly, clearly not amused.
“Ha.Ha.” she worded, rather sarcastically.
“I meant, what do you want to do in life?” she questioned, her voice a little brittle, like glass that was about to crack.
“Oh.That” I said, as I wiped my mouth with a tissue, brushing off the flecks of crust off my t-shirt. My croissant was over, so I could talk.
“I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll become a chef.” I told her, while a waiter hurried up to take our empty plates away. He looked at me in distaste again. I followed his gaze, and saw that there still some crumbs on my t-shirt. I brushed them off, embarrassed.
“Uh-huh.” She said, as if I had said something that was low on intellect.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked her, defensively. Being a chef was cool, and I wasn’t going to give up on it so easily.
“Umm. For starters, can you cook?” she asked, a sneer on her face.
“Uh-huh. I can make a decent Spanish omelet, a chocolate cake, corn salad…” I trailed off, as she stared at me smugly.
“…and instant noodles. I can make instant noodles!” I continued, rather weakly.
“Wow. Imagine a restaurant that sells instant noodles!” here voice dripped with sarcasm.
She did have a point.
Being a chef didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“Maybe I’ll become a sculptor!” I said, quite proud of my dash of brilliance. After all, I did in fact love to play with clay when I was younger. And anyway, how tough could that be.
She looked at me blankly.
“You can’t make a block out of clay if I asked you to” she snorted, quite deviously.
“I can too!” I interjected, quite lamely. “I made a miniature human figure out of clay when I was six!” I added. She didn’t need to know that my art teacher had thought that it was a spider.
She looked at me blankly. Again.
She did have a point.
“A food critic?” I asked, my muscles twitching.
“Our body’s not a temple, It’s an amusement park!” she replied quite dramatically.
“A pilot?” I asked my voice low and quivering.
She laughed out loud.
She did have a point.
“A National Geographic correspondent?” I asked of her, but I had already given up hope on that before she could say anything.
She shook her head.
Fifteen minutes, and a dozen career choices later, all of which were turned down, either because of my intellect, my physical health or my skill, she sat up straight in her seat, a bright glow on her face.
“It’s all planned out” she said. “You’ll do architecture, and you’ll love it!”
I stared.
She grinned at me, as if expecting to make me fall in love with her idea at once.
“Why?” I replied, monosyllabically.
“Oh come on!” she said, “You know you like it, you keep on playing those crazy simulation games everyday don’t you?” I twirled the salt cellar on the table.
She did have a point.
“And architecture will help you on your way to greatness!” she exclaimed dramatically, sounding strangely like the sorting hat.
“Try it out. You don’t want to be an engineer, right?” she asked, smiling, knowing that she had hit the target.
She did have a point.
“Uh-Huh.” I grunted. There was no way I was telling her that she had a point. No way could I see that smug look on her face. “It does sound pretty okay, but what next?” I asked, as she tittered away.
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got your whole life planned out for you.” She giggled.
“You are sounding like one of those mothers”, I warned her, stressing on my penultimate word.
“Oh.yeah, sorry about that. It won’t happen again. So architecture, huh? It’s meant to be. Big bucks. All the glamour in the world and you just have to draw for that. After all, how hard can drawing get?”
She did have a point.
Now, three years later, I hate destiny.