Fortuity is the beauty of life

Near a worn out fence of an abandoned land, somehow trees were able to grow from the cracks of the concrete floor, thin tree branches poked out from the gaps, leaving green leaves outside the fence, almost covering it entirely. A brown-winged butterfly with white stripes in the middle and on the edge rested on one of the leaves, it gave its wings a soft flutter, and there’s no hurricane. It was a sunny morning.

Humans wrestle with fortuity our whole life, even before our birth. Had our parents not spoken with each other, we might not be here, at least not as the same person. The same applies to our grandparents, great grandparents, stretching indefinitely into the deep pocket of time. Then, it can be said that fortuity spirals infinitely into the past and into the future, recursively stacking more fortuities, until the birth and eventual perishment of the universe itself.

The word fortuity itself is neutral, for it doesn’t concern the desirability of the outcome, it merely describes the fact that the universe itself is the collective spirals of ravelling fortuities that’s beyond human understanding.

For we are who we are today perchance, we befriended those perchance, you are reading this perchance, that’s the beauty of life.