Idon’t believe in fate. Lives aren’t set in stone; there’s no such thing as “in the stars.”

I wasn’t destined to write this, and you probably weren’t destined to read it. We’ve either brought ourselves here or been thrown together by random chance — author and reader. And yet, I’m still thinking and writing about it, and you’re still reading it. Maybe this constant musing about fate and predetermination, making art about this unprovable rule, is just what keeps us sane, helps us feel important or noticed by the vast universe.

In art, all events are predetermined. There can be forces beyond humans. Sisters can be marked for death. Lovers can doom themselves to tragedy. Authors and artists become arbiters of fate. They give us the chance to indulge in realities where prophecies can be real

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