Wendy Lin had always been an indecisive girl.
While others could decide what to buy in three minutes, she could stand in front of the shelves for half an hour, picking things up and putting them down again and again. Ask her, "Which one do you want?" and she'd bite her lip, lower her head, and murmur, "I… I don't know."
When she was in third grade, she got scolded by her mother for spending too long choosing an eraser. After that, she stopped trying to make decisions at all. Her world was split into two parts. In society’s eye she was obedient, quiet, and agreeable. In private, she relied on astrology books, blood type analysis, and fortune-telling apps to tiptoe through life. She claimed she was following the will of the universe.
At eighteen, when it came time to fill out her college application, she didn't consult her school advisor or talk to her parents, instead, she snuck out to the suburbs to visit a fortune teller known for being never wrong.
"You're water-heavy in your five elements," He crossed his arms as he studied her birth chart. "You clash with fire. Medicine and engineering are a no-go. You'll face constant obstacles in your career. You should go into the arts or media."
She nodded eagerly and immediately changed her preferred major from Biology, her original passion. Instead she ticked off the box "Media and Communication” in her application. Four years later, she graduated into a void from a random college with no passion for her choice of study. While her classmates landed jobs at major firms, agencies, or went abroad to study, she had nothing. She filled out dozens of job applications without a response.
She thought maybe the timing was wrong, so she paid $120 to a popular fortune-telling influencer to check her career luck. The reply came with an image saying her "life palace was blocked, and needed to be unsealed." They recommended a "matchmaking and career-enhancing charm package," and a "professional elevation Tarot spread"—originally priced at $180, now discounted to $95.
She hesitated and bought it.
That was the beginning of a downward spiral.
Every time she changed jobs, she'd consult her cards. If someone told her she was indecisive and needed to be more assertive, she'd simply reply, "I have to follow the guidance of the universe." Gradually, she stopped trusting people, stopped trusting effort. She only believed in fate.
At 26, she got into her first relationship.
She met the man during a metaphysical workshop. He claimed to be a descendant of the Yangming School of Philosophy. He spoke softly, wore a white crystal bracelet, and had tattoos on his back. She had drawn the ‘Lovers’ card the day she saw him and had rejoiced in her future ahead.
She believed she had found her soulmate.
She bought him crystals, essential oils, and incense sticks. She rented a meditation space in the outskirts of the city and even traveled with him abroad on "energy cleansing" trips. Eventually, she gave him all her savings to their own healing center.
One day, she woke up to find herself blocked on all communication platforms. Her bank account was empty. He had vanished.
She went to the police. They told her that because there was no official contract between the both of them there was nothing they can do.
That night she returned to her rented apartment, curled up in a ball on her bed and cried. She pulled out her old tarot cards again trying to make sense of it all. She traced the colorful images and the delicate carved silver letters, forcing herself to believe that all this hardship happened for a reason.
She moved to a new city, changed her name, and tried to start over. But her new life was nothing more than a repeat of the old one. At thirty, she was still drifting, still alone. When she received wedding invitations from friends, she'd wonder if she was just cursed by fate. She kept seeking answers, kept paying gurus and guides, and the more she spent, the worse her life became. She wasn't living anymore, just clinging to a fantasy of "destiny."
Then one night, at age thirty-six, as she was lying in bed scrolling through her phone and stumbled across a video. It was a former tarot influencer with over a million followers. He publicly confessed to their audience about his profession stating, "We read people, not the stars. The more anxious you are, the more money we make. The more you want to escape your life, the more you'll pay for illusions of guidance."
She jumped out of bed, ran to the living room, and gathered up all her crystals, tarot decks, and fortune books. She threw them into a trash bag, sobbing uncontrollably. She collapsed to the floor as she hugged the items she had once held dear.
That night, she realized that she had never been following fate. She had been running from it, from responsibility, from choices, from consequences.
The next morning, for the first time, she didn't check her horoscope, didn't draw a card. She walked straight into a local night school that offered free college classes.
She enrolled in biology courses, starting from the introductory level and reclaiming the dream she had given up all those years ago.
On the first day, she sat quietly in a corner of the classroom, surrounded by fresh-faced twenty-something year olds. The person next to her leaned over and asked, "Are you switching careers?"
She smiled. "No, I'm rewriting my life."
Two years later, she became a lab technician. The pay wasn't high, and life wasn't easy, but it was the most grounded she had ever felt. No one else made her choices now. There was no "destined one" to guide her. Each day, she chose what to eat, what to learn, what to become—on her own.
She finally learned to live for herself, not for some imagined fate.