If there’s one thing I’ve learned in any statistics class, it’s that correlation does not equal causation. But sometimes, when two unrelated events lead to an incredible result, my brain throws that logic out the window. These events may not even be correlated in any way—they just occur singly and randomly, yet I find some connection between the two. More importantly, I find comfort in that connection. That is the beauty of superstition: the irrational belief in supernatural influences, especially those involving luck. When I think about superstitions, a very vivid instance comes to mind. Now that I think of it, it wasn’t a “superstitious” instance per se, like the ones that involve seeing a black cat and having a bird poop on your head a moment later, yet the word comes closest to describing the irrational belief underlying it.
It dates back to 2016. It’s a day that’s strangely clear in my head. I had come back from school feeling a bit fatigued, which was unusual for nine-year-old me, who rarely experienced dips in energy as my nineteen-year-old self does now. I was due for my second badminton class of the week, but my mom, who felt a temperature, stopped me from going. I was quite bummed out. Against my will, I lay in bed and fell asleep without much difficulty. After what felt like an eternity, I’d woken up feeling like I was on a whole other planet. I felt worse than I did before, and to cheer me up, my mom had cooked a warm bowl of Maggi. But despite my love for Maggi, I had absolutely no appetite and had started to feel more depressed than ever. A second check by my mom told me that my temperature had soared up to a whopping 103 degrees. My nine-year-old mind began catastrophising: What if I don’t go to school tomorrow? I won’t be able to meet my friends! I’ll miss so many days! I dragged my feet into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, laying my head on my mom’s lap for comfort while my dad and cousin sister watched the news. My cousin was on her phone, listening to a song, when she turned to me and asked, “Have you heard this song? It’s really good. Came out last year.” Handing the phone to me, I was greeted with an array of stunning colourful visuals and a familiar tune, one that I’d heard my friends sing before…
“I, oh I, oh I, got me feeling drunk and high, so high, so high…”
Having absolutely no idea what the song was, I sat listening to it as I glumly stared at the TV. I couldn’t understand the lyrics either. Yet the tune, the voices, and just about everything seemed to soothe me internally. I couldn’t explain it at all. My cousin played it a few more times. After being force-fed some dinner by my mom, I made my way back to my room, feeling dejected about having to miss school the next day. However, I felt weirdly more energetic. As though driven by divine instinct, I picked up the thermometer for one last time and checked my temperature, because what if…
…Voila! My temperature was now at 99 degrees! How could it have happened?
My mind immediately went back to the song, and I had the strongest conviction that the song somehow had a healing effect on me. I merrily went to school the next day. Now here I am, ten years later, still strongly convinced that Hymn for the Weekend by Coldplay had “cured” me all those years back.
Logically speaking, there is little to no connection between the two events. There is no scientific evidence regarding the healing effect of songs on a high fever. This whole story may seem absurd to many. However, the very reason I still choose to believe in it despite knowing better reveals something crucial about human nature. Life is unpredictable, and the world is arbitrary. To find our footing amidst this chaos, we tend to find patterns just so that this scary world makes a little more sense. No matter how it defies the laws of science, our black-cat-lucky-shirt logic prevails as it gives us a unique, psychological comfort that cold, hard facts don’t.Â
So what if correlation doesn’t equal causation? Or if the two events are just two distant dots on a scatterplot with no relation at all? My nine-year-old self still drew the line of faith between the two to feel like she could somehow shape her fate in her own little way. And more importantly, she doesn’t know that her future nineteen-year-old self still listens to the same song whenever she feels low, reliving the same irrational comfort she felt ten years ago.