Gypsy and the Future

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about gypsies and the future. Read on and you might be surprised about what you find. I must admit, there is a secret message.
Thanks in advance for reading.

Submitted: January 25, 2010

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Submitted: January 25, 2010

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“It's all in the bloodline,

it is impossible to escape destiny!

No matter how far and where you run, and discover brand new talents, you shall take over as the mistress of fortune.

It is fate and destiny, as you should know that better than anyone else!

You cannot out run your own skin don't forget that Vadoma!”




These were the very last words screamed behind my back as I departed the house I came into the world and grew up in—until my twentieth birthday in fleeting steps...It was like a storm. No one saw it coming. Possibility remained strong but, always too far off the shore to hit our home.


On that day, I abandoned my family to their fates as I grew tired of being a Gypsy and the blood it enabled one of its descents to do. I came to abhor everything about the Roma Gypsy culture, what it represented, what it mirrored, and what it meant for others. I hated myself because of it; because of my heritage.


I was born a Gypsy, I had no choice in the matter. I don't ever remember being asked what I would like to be born as. I don't remember filling out a questionnaire about the color of skin I wanted to be in. I was stuck with this blood, this magic, and this skin color. I couldn't do anything about it, no matter how hard I tried. Not only that, everything about me screamed a gypsy. My appearance, my personality, dislikes, and worst of all, my name. I couldn't escape it. It was everywhere I went. It was masked on all the faces of everyone I ever walked by. It was in the hearts of everyone that came into our home to get their fortunes checked out. It was my hell. I despised everything that was associated into the Gypsy culture. Every description, word, terminology, talents and connotations included.


My name is Nuri Vadoma. I am a Gypsy. At the age of twenty I could no longer carry the burdens of being a Roma Gypsy on my shoulders. It was getting to me, and my gut feeling was to flee before it sucked me in as a whole. Out of random, on my twentieth birthday I decided to leave my fate, change my destiny and create another life for myself. I wanted a new identity. I left home at the spur of the moment, without anything, without any consideration, without any thoughts, without any regards. I just ran away from home, bare foot in the middle of my celebration night into my womanhood and new found gifts. The night I left, it was raining from the heavens.


I went through difficult times in my stupidity. New found freedom, new found identity, and new found poverty. At first, I had no where to go, no one to shelter me, an no one to look after me. Streets could be so very cruel and un-profound. I learned the value of intelligence at first, through street cred. I ate from the garbage and slept under many different bridges in different cities during the rain. I took shelter at the most obscure places. I fought with myself and the world constantly as I tried to leave my born identity and to assume a new one. As days turned into weeks, and weeks smoothed into months, and months swiftly turned into years, I embraced many different names, identities and clothing all to survive and to establish a new life and cast my own webs of destiny. But no matter what I became, I could not leave the Gypsy part of myself. I couldn't wash it away with the autumn rains. I couldn't freeze it like the old snow turned into ice. It wouldn't melt away into little rivers with the upcoming spring. I could not blossom into someone else under the scorching, hot summer sun. I became a sophisticated young woman, a college girl, a small stand owner, a fiancée, a shop owner, a researcher, and many other new personalities and identities I now cannot even remember for the life of me. After many years and after assuming many identities, I finally arrived in one particular identity I was comfortable and happy in—that suited me the best. It was improbably, but I had achieved to finally accept it. However it was another story for others to accept me as any other identity other than my looks so cruelly defined: A Roma Gypsy.


Yes, to the world, no matter how much I educated myself, how much I became someone else, I was always going to be a Gypsy to them. A thief, a beggar, a psychic, a useless absorption of life. Through my experiences with others I finally became aware how much my heritage was grained into my soul. I could not walk away from being a Gypsy just like my aunt screamed at me on that rainy autumn night. It was in my blood, in my heart, in my soul, and in my appearance. I was tired of being viewed as nothing but a Gypsy. I saw how others looked at me. I saw their ignorance and hatred in their eyes. They hardly tried to mask the hatred, the distaste, the arrogance.


I might have had difficulties regarding changing and altering of my appearances, identity and thinking pattern. I came over many improbable situations. From walking on the street bare foot and eating out of garbage I got myself a job, food, a home, clothes and furniture. I even put myself through school, opened up and closed down businesses. I even managed to have someone fall in love with me enough to propose to me. But it was impossible to walk away or stop the curse that came by being born into certain heritage and blood. The fortune telling, divinations...and everything else, it was unendingly in my head, under my skin, in my mind. Constantly telling me this or that, showing me images of the things to befall upon human kind. My waking hours were not enough for it to haunt me, it relentlessly chased after me in my dreams, prophesying. It was the most proficient thing about me. I was never able to ditch it no matter what I did, no matter which identity I assumed. It was, in essence a part of me. Unfortunately, the two of us were inseparable. I would have to be reborn again, as something else to erase that part about me. Even then, I would have latent powers—that I am certain. It's pesky and determined. Powers like these were selfish. It did not like going into unknown carriers. The harder I tried to lose it, the harder it became to live without it. It clung onto me for its life. It increased its powers, and it became holy under the most goofy circumstances, laughing back at my face and taunting me like a vampire taunts with it's prey. Then I went down with evil and it manifested itself. It came back with a vengeance after me. It punished me for walking down the wrong path in the most severe ways. I couldn't get away from it. That's when I realized all was inevitable, all was careless, all was inescapable and I could not outrun myself, my heritage, my blood and my fate.


My looks branded me. My charbroiled skin that seemed to be cooked under the Sub Saharan Dessert, my death like black and wretched hair. My full, hourglass figure, my estranged and charcoal eyes. My undeniably very Roma like features. My mannerisms, my gestures. That accent, the Roma accent; I couldn't learn to talk without it either. I couldn't help it. I danced under the full moon light, I had ankle bracelets that shingled and shangled as I walked along. My big and hoop earrings. My zest and charm that filled me inside and out. I loved vibrant and bright colors. I wore them day in and day out. They instantly saw me as a Roma Gypsy and nothing else. I was instantly branded. They held onto their pockets, hid their jewelery and locked their doors, avoided my gaze and would not let me shake their hand. They all assumed I was going to come up with some lame excuse and beg for their money. I never did that! No one in my clan ever would dare such a low life thing. How shameful. They feared me, thinking; with one look, I could see their “life line”. Such bull normal people believed in glamorized by some actively imagined author, producer, director.


But you see, that's how stereo typing works. One individual brands us all.


Many years later, when I could not escape my curse, my traveling brought me back to home, the door I had sworn all of my blood to never return again.


I had sworn so—never to return. I never intended to return. I was set on living my life unlike a Gypsy, no matter how much I struggled with that. But I could not deal with my gifts anymore. They were out of control and I needed help. The only ones who could help me were those in my clan.


I hated hearing the whispers of deceit carried by the wind, the mysteries and dark secrets hidden in the vast sea, the lust and the passion emitting through the cigarette lighter, and the earth that bear all of our pasts and futures. I didn't have the slightest chance to escape it. The thunder told me of the surprises filled with tender feelings. I could not stand those either.


I knew who will die soon as I passed through them and the feeling seeped down my spine, jolting me and condemning me to their sorrow and pain. If you think that's impressive, try me at your Turkish Coffee fortune reading and tarot card reading. I excel at tea fortune reading too. Past, present and future maintained an unstable balance under my delicate finger tips. I could easily mess your life and change it with the wrong interpretation. I was lethal at fortune readings. Not only was I able to read your past and see your horrid present, I could ultimately change your future and your destiny with my interpretation. Chilling, isn't it? It's a curse. I, of course excelled at palm reading as such were under my expertise. That's what truly enabled me to become the mistress of fortunes.


And here I was cursing at my ancestors. Seriously why couldn't they be normal?--carrying normal genes into the future. This blood, this house and it's matriarchs had destroyed my life with their curses, gifts and self fulfilling prophecies. My mother was the last matriarch, even on her death bed. As she drew her last breath, she still contemplated the future and the needs of the clan. Silly woman. When she closed her eyes and said her goodbye's to this world, as she prepared to say hello to the next, matriarchs I came to despise had come to me. The bloodline made it my turn to be the next matriarch. But I was thirteen, so I waved my turn into the matriarch before my mother, who was very old then--leading from where my mother left. It was a temporary solution, in which upon my twentieth birthday I would resume from where my mother left. I would finish the prophecy. Or so was the agreement. An agreement I had been adamant about never fulfilling. I was meant to interpret the fortune of a person that would ultimately change the world from its derails. Depending on my interpretation, it would change for the better or the worst. Such a big responsibility it was.


When I returned many years later at the door steps of the house I had sworn I would never be back at. I was not ready to face my destiny. I don't know why or how I ended up here, but it called me back. By now, my aunt has taken over as the old matriarch had left this world too. Thus, my destiny too became fulfilled, at least partially. With that, I became the mistress of the Gypsies. I was made to assume the role, the fate, I was born to be, to fulfill.


A title, I had never wanted, a position I probably don't deserve. Not because my talents fall short, quite to the contrary. My skills and talents, as my blood remains purer than pure, are unmatchable even those of most matriarchs. However, I am too fickle, too tempted, and too eccentric to lead a whole clan. No one ever heeded to my yelps, even though they heard me loud and clear. “Bloodline and gifts” they said. As if that was everything.


So, I became bound to the house I was born in, shackled to it. Unable to leave my home exception of certain circumstances. I had fled away, long ago, and now we were the one and the same. Now, all that was left was to bear an heiress. That I would have to do soon with a Gypsy whose bloodline remained pure. I am afraid, I don't have too long left anymore.


Young girls, married women and mistresses, mothers, and mothers in law, and women in love, hateful husbands, obsessed man, lustful man, admirable and hateful men and women, curious, ignorant people, government officials and the presidents of different things all flocked to my door as moths flocked to fire, looking for a heads up in their time to come, although they claimed to never believing so. Always boasting about the hoaxes. True enough, there were plenty of those. People of all kinds, came to even out their destinies, to turn the tides in their favors. All does not always go according to what we want though. Sometimes getting answers they were not ready to hear, perhaps unexpected at all, always set them off.


When that did happen, and there were those that were extremely sensitive and ambitious did not bide well with the answers they were not looking for. They would they request witch craft and magic as a fortune teller I could not perform to fix their situation under their fated stars. People who got desperate became problematic to even out the advantages. They never listened, never understood why I could not practice and could not accomplish. Calling me a liar in counter arguing against my gifts and abilities when rejected. As I am a Gypsy they all think I have a crystal ball and can perform everything regarding the supernatural realm. One may wish, but there are rules, even in our world. Balance is dire, not easily achieved, easily destroyed. One rule that no one can be saved from it's punishment. Each must perform the duties and obligations they were born to do. In the world no one is an exception to rules and boundaries no matter how different they may be from one person to the next. We reap what we sow as we will be heavily punished for mixing duties and powers for creating an imbalance. An action I did not dare to take for the punishment scared me into the next world. Such consequences laid heavy in my heart and in my conscience.


On such a day; I was expecting a young girl. I had prepared and was waiting for her as the wind told me of her coming. There she stood in front of me, with wide and curious eyes, sweet as the sweet peas, something special about her was apparent to one with keen eyes like mine. I looked at the fortune of the said young girl; who was barely eighteen. I had understood that day for the first time as it was said long time ago, by all Gypsies that “not all fortunes are meant to be looked at and to be revealed.” Certain veils in life are never meant to be lifted. I had feared my abilities and what I saw in this normal child with no powers scared me to my death. Her past and future surely guarded and messed with powers far greater than mine and all of the dwellers of the forbidden arts as it is to human kinds. How could such a young and little body contain so much?She was the girl of my prophecy. I was meant to read her fortune that would change the world of its tracks.


Such sorrow and pain, and grief filled her past. Such a young age to suffer endlessly. My heart went out to this little girl who never once cried out against her fate and destiny. She never even knew her destiny. Her future deemed important, sinister, colossal and one that will change the world through her powerful and her sturdy type personality. She was the shift, in powers. She was going to be the cause of shift in balance. She marked change in her make, as being a Gypsy was in my make. She was one girl with no abilities and powers like mine. But she would do what I could not do even as fearsome as my powers were. She would become someone important in the future through all her endurance. She would come back with a vengeance. To be vice and vile, or to be good and holy would be depended on her as her destiny went both ways. While doing good, you always create evil and while doing evil, you always create good. It is the natural balance as how things work. Light creates shadows, and darkness allows light to be born. They are the two sides to the same thing.


From there on, my life changed for the remainder of my limited time on here, as the strongest of matriarchs lived shorter lives.


My mother had always said, “a gift given to the mind is far more precious than the one grained through blood and the art of forbidden powers.”





© Copyright 2018 NazireC. All rights reserved.

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