"By 40, you will be successful, and damn rich!" said an Indian guy in front of me. He wore something like scarf on his head. He claimed himself as some kind of a medical or a magical practitioner, I was not sure. His accent was so thick -- as thick as his hair around his face, and chest.
"Just don't ever trust in love!" he said. I listened carefully so that I won't be misunderstood or missed the best part for the second times.
"Be good to your father!" he added. He finished up his tea in one slurp.
The advices are not valid, I thought. I did not have both. I lost them and I never had any chance to get them back.
He wiped off his tea-coated-moustache with a small handkerchief he carried along inside his side pocket.
The Indian guy then asked me for my birth date and after minutes of silent, and with closed eyes, he suggested me with everything about what had I been through, what is, and what will.
Yes, to my surprise, almost all of the stories about my past events were right and it almost made me jump out of my skin. He amazed me.
My excitement suddenly aroused. He must be an angel, I thought.
I should ask the details. This kind of oppurtunity doesn't come everyday, I whispered to myself.
"You are smart. Intelligent. You are very sweet person. You are a good keeper. You are easily misunderstood by people. You have so many dreams. Your heart is closed. Empty."
"You have a lot of potentials. I can see them in your --," he said. Again, I lost the words and connection.
I was about to asked him to repeat back but then I changed my mind. Instead, I looked at him in the eye.
There were millions of thoughts crossed in.
I nodded and smiled.
Then, I just let the guy did all the talking afterwards.
Inside, my logical (read: cynical) side of the brain told: "If he can predict other's fate, he won't be driving a, Wira."