Manifest

She got on the third train, the last leg of the trek home, after a long day at work. She found herself a seat by the window and fell into the trance that soothed her on the ride. As the train began its churn eastbound, she let the rocking rustle the stress that lingered on her uniform. It never ceased to amaze her how one physical building could hold so much negative energy. No wonder it attracted customers that fed that negativity.

She let her eyes refocus to the present, the train rolling by the life that existed beyond that job. A group of kids got off at the first stop, headphones hanging over ears as the day’s updates circulated between them. Everything in that moment was about the what she said to him and what I heard from….

She began to think about the words she would use to describe her life now. Tired, repetitive, exhausting, as she sighed, releasing the breath she had been holding in all day. She was ready for something to change, the routine get shattered by something that stirred life in her spirit. She was ready to float on the silver lining, rather than the gray that played her life on mute.

Strangely, she found herself staring at three yellow cars, stopped at a light. The stark contrast of the color snapped her thoughts to her grandma, who had transitioned a few years back. Her grandma had always pushed her to think beyond what she saw with her eyes and listen to what she perceived with her intuition. Nour, remember your power.

The train rounded the corner of the Square. She began collecting her things and noticed a small black notebook, tucked in the fold of the chair. She pulled it out and flipped through the pages, looking for signs of its previous life. No words or marks were found. Yet, something about the feel of the black leather, the curve of the spine, made her feel it was not new. The train stopped and the jostle of exiting bodies hoisted her out of her seat and onto her walk home.

* * *

A couple weeks passed and Nour found herself in a seat by the window, reflecting on the interactions of the day. The normal eb and flow of a retail environment meant that some customers were a bit much and others were alright. The routine of it all still blended five days into fifteen. She looked down at her phone, 2:22 pm. Now that was something she had been noticing for a little bit now. Customer totals that would ring to $55.55. Phone numbers that ended in 333. Something that made her look up from whatever she was doing to notice 11:11. She was always pushed into the next task or customer that she didn’t pause to consider the circumstance around the numbers she noticed. But as the train created its meditative hum, her thoughts resurfaced those synchronicities.

There was no reason she could associate for why they were happening. They just happened in that way, she thought, maybe. As the train pulled up to the next stop, three yellow cars were parked at the station. Her mind instantly snapped back to the notebook she had picked up some time ago. She fished in her bag and found the object of her discarding. She pulled it out and fingered the pages of the book on her walk home.

That evening, candles lit after a long shower, she laid in bed and pulled out the notebook. A full moon hung in the window of her room, as she opened to the first blank page. Something called to her to write in the notebook, but her hand hesitated under the weight of the first mark to make. She remembered her grandma always telling her about the power of her words, how each one counted. Even the ones never spoken. Nour looked down at the page and began to write her first wish. She called for rest, a day where she could find peace in her space mentally and physically. She laid her head back and fell asleep in the day she crafted.

The next morning, she arose renewed with an energy she hadn’t felt in awhile. She went about her morning: coffee, reading, a little herb to accompany the sun. She was on call for the day so the motions of work prep commenced. As she stepped out the bathroom, her phone buzzed with a text from her managers letting her know her shift had been switched to out of store for the day. She danced at the change of plans, knowing she had a beautiful day to mold with what she wanted.

As the day progressed, she found the planned activities dwindle into a much welcomed peaceful day at home. At one point, she looked over at the notebook and wrote “thank you” to whatever helped make her day so calm.

Over the next couple weeks, she kept the practice of wishing and giving thanks, a morning writing ritual that gave a lot of new life to her routine. On a daily basis, she would catch herself smiling at the present moment and whatever blessing landed in her hands. She began to believe it was the notebook, or whatever magic it possessed. It stayed in her pocket, a pen nearby, ready to jot down an idea or appreciate a moment past.

A month passed, thirty days of her ritual. One particular Tuesday morning, she read an email about a grant for recent graduates looking to learn new skills or trades not learned during the acquiring of their degree. Her mind had been lingering on the idea of picking up an additional writing habit, one in poetry or prose. It was different, out of the norm of the accounting tract she had been on. Yet, the grant spoke to the part of her heart that believed that writing wasn’t too far out of her reach. She filled out the application for the $20,000 and the spark left her fingertips tingling. Before submitting, she reached over to her pocket companion and wrote:

I am winning $20,000 to begin my creative journey.

May 12th, she walked into her room, eyes glued to the words email that began with “Congratulations…” A yellow bird perched in her window, as Nour looked up, incredulous at the news. All she could do in that moment was smile, pull out her notebook and write “thank you.”