“Just look at those dragons!”Â
As a teenage kid, I always found myself utterly engrossed between the pages of a fantasy novel. My tiny little mind would light up with fireworks every time I thought of something “supernatural” that defied the workings of our mundane, ordinary world. I made friends with fictional characters, gasped at every plot twist and marvelled at the intricately constructed world-building. My childhood was spent walking along the halls of Hogwarts, dodging Seraph blades from Cassandra Claire’s Shadowhunters while I traversed into the action-packed realm of Sarah J. Maas’s Erilea. It was through spending years immersed in such phantasmagorical realms filled with strange creatures, waxed candles, ancient runes and artful pentagrams that eventually shaped my interest in tarot.
For a long time, tarot cards have captivated the minds of many with their enigmatic inscriptions, intriguing archetypes and mystical allure. Tarot is believed to have originated in 15th-century Northern Italy, where it was initially played as a game. Later, it was used in cartomancy, an art form steeped in fortune-telling and divination. Comprising of 78 cards, a tarot deck is split into two sections: the Major Arcana (22 cards) and the Minor Arcana (56 cards). The Major Arcana often represents significant life events and pivotal turning points, while the Minor Arcana focuses on everyday experiences and daily actions.
Personally, I feel like there’s something so therapeutic about having a physical deck of cards. It’s like these magical manifestations and so-called “spiritual energies” are captured and stored within something tangible, weighed down and solidified on paper. The cards carry an air of mysticism, enlivened by fantastical archetypes and aged with Roman numerals, making them feel truly ancient and timeless.
Driven by curiosity, I got a tarot reading done last year on the night of Halloween. My hand hovered over a deck of face-down cards as I closed my eyes, letting them gravitate towards the card that called out to me the most. The card I chose was named The Star. It depicted an image of a calm figure kneeling beside a stream of water, which was fed to the surrounding grass. The card symbolized optimism, creative inspiration, and the attainment of inner peace after a period of chaos and restlessness. Surprisingly, I was able to draw an accurate connection between the card and my own life. As I stared at it, thoughts about the first few months of college came rushing back. Looking back, the boisterous energy that filled campus gradually subsided. Corridors once flooded with a sea of shuffling feet during move-in day soon emptied out. Loud, hyper screams lowered to midnight chatter behind closed doors. Halls echo silence during weekend-long respites, when the RH lies abandoned for a location beyond the bounds of campus. Timetables found structure and routines were solidified. Friendships were forged over cups of evening tea, excitedly spilt during afternoon perimeter walks as we quenched our thirst for campus drama. The card wasn’t an unsettling foreshadowing of what was to come, but a pause. A moment for deep introspection, as I took a trip down memory lane to hand-pick experiences that truly encapsulated the essence of the card’s message.
The Fool, depicted as a young traveler, symbolizes naivety, hopefulness and someone who takes a risk without thoughtful consideration. This card often reminds me of my food-driven impulsive self, especially during a heavily resisted late-night Narsi run for yet another one of those ice cream sandwiches. The Four of Swords, portraying a figure lying down, surrounded by suspended blades, symbolizes rest and renewal after a period of mental exhaustion. I’d like to think of it as an oddly calming feeling of relief after finally submitting an assignment that had haunted my to-do list for days. Strangely enough, tarot archetypes bear some resemblance to college life after all.
Over time, tarot has evolved and so has its purpose. To me, tarot doesn’t function like a crystal ball that lets you peek into the future and neither is it a Magic 8-Ball that gives you a clear-cut yes or no answer. Frankly, predicting the future gives me the chills. Clearly, Percy Jackson’s prophetic dreams were more of a burden than a gift (poor guy suffered far too many sleepless nights, frightened by nightmares). After all, the future isn’t pre-written and doesn’t guarantee assuredness. It’s shaped by the many actions and decisions that we consciously make along the way. So why predict the future when doing so is simply futile?
In the end, tarot isn’t a fortune-telling tool or a twisted way of eliminating our agency. These decks of cards call out to the lost, confused parts of ourselves who demand not answers, but a space for quiet rumination. A chance to slow down and streamline our scattered thoughts when the world around us feels a little too overwhelming and a little less magical.