Fate. A predetermined supernatural power. The will of the universe. Fate is order. It writes, and rewrites, gives and takes. It spins vibrant red strings that flow into the world and connect people who are destined to meet, to love, to share a story...
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For years, home to me had been a small, brightly lit house located at the very end of a pleasant street lined with stalls selling flowers and sweets. Beige walls and large windows emitting golden light—walking in through that door was like walking into a warm cocoon with a hearth at its centre.
When hot air from the battered heaters finally touched my skin and sounds mixed with television static filled my ears, I knew I was safe. This was my place. And inside was my person.
"Baa-san, I'm home," I announce, clattering into the living room and dropping my books by the sliding door.
"Mm," my grandmother grunts from her chair, her fervent eyes glued to the old television I set up for her. "AND HIDEO ITAMI HAS SET FOOT IN THE Ring. ANY MINUTE NOW, WE WILL SEE IF HE CAN HOLD HIS GROUND AGAINST JAPAN'S FINEST." I roll my eyes and collapse on the floor mats next to her chair, wrapping my arms around her waist and letting my head fall against her side.
Hideo Itami is, according to my grandmother, the only competent pro wrestler of our inadequate generation. There's something about the spirit in his eyes, apparently, that warrants her approval.
When the referee blows his whistle, she begins anxiously muttering under her breath, and when a few seconds later, the rural wrestler's buff opponent knocks him off his feet, she lets out a disapproving shriek. "Up, boy!" she yells to the screen, then proceeds to release a string of unbecoming words, paying no heed to her grandson's presence in the room.
"Baa-san," I groan in an attempt to garner her attention. She ignores me and prattles on. "Your grandfather would have had him on his back in two seconds, you hear!? That meathead may be strong, but he's got nothing on—"
"Baa-san~" I moan again, prodding her leg with my nose to distract her before she can launch into yet another story describing Ojii-san's conquests.
She sighs, exasperated, and tears her eyes from the grappling men on screen. "Yes, what is it?" she asks impatiently.
"I had a rough day," I murmur. The metal in her eyes immediately softens. "What happened? Whose tushy do I need to kick?" she demands, running her bony fingers along my hair.
I smile into her lap. "I'm not sure what high schools to apply for. I don't have much longer to decide."
"Oh, just pick any school, you'll be fine," she says dismissively.
"Baa-san!" I whine. "You know that's not true."
She scowls. "Of course it's true! You know why?"
"Because I have you?" I mumble.
"No, it's because you're a strong boy," she declares, her eyes flaring with pride.
