I must admit it, I love fortune cookies. Not for the taste. The taste is cardboard with sugar sprinkles. I love them because of what happens in my head the second I crack one open. Suddenly, this little strip of paper becomes a sacred text. I can stare at life itself and feel nothing, but give me a cookie that says “Adventure is coming” and I am like ‘finally, my prophecy has arrived.’ That’s the trick. The cookie doesn’t know me. It never did. It is not fortune, it is projection. It is my boredom, my hunger, my need for a sign, all wrapped in a biscuit. But I play along, because it’s fun. Because it’s easier to pretend the universe has a plan than admit it doesn’t. And maybe that’s why I love them. Not for the wisdom. For the joke. The cookie doesn’t predict my future, it just exposes how desperate I am to find one.