Certainty

She was often surprised by how certain she was. About everything. And everybody.

She never could fathom where it came from, or why. She just “knew”.

She knew exactly how things would turn out. She could see the end even before things took off. No whys were entertained. Nor why-nots.

She decided that the colour yellow did not suit her.

She figured that even if she tried her best she wouldn’t make it to the course she wanted to learn.

She didn’t want to leave her job even if she didn’t particularly love it.

She knew that there was no point even if she was interested in someone; not even to see if it could go somewhere, or could be something more.

It was all about being rational and practical. Mostly.

But sometimes she wondered if there was more to this. Wondered if it was because she was averse to risks - very comfortable with what she knew; what was familiar. Or was it the fear of failing? Of rejection? Of dejection? No rocking the boat. Nothing out of the ordinary. A sense of security - which could perhaps be false? She couldn’t really tell.

And yet, she was certain. Even of her certainty.