Trying to Ruin my Life by Breaking Superstitions

I’ve never been superstitious. As a kid, I was taught to fear God not black cats. When friends made semi-sarcastic comments about stepping on cracks and breaking mirrors, I rolled my eyes. These things wouldn’t ruin your life. I was told being queer, having premarital sex, and showing too much skin would.  

But just as I’ve worked to tear the weed of religion from my mind, I wonder if I can pull superstitions out of yours.  

So, for four days in a row, I will break a different superstition and see if it destroys my life.  

Stepping on cracks  

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.”

Before the invention of Coco Melon, 19th century children would sing this nursery rhyme while hopping around cracks on pavements. Eventually, the saying was adopted into the mainstream. 

I wake up ready to risk my mother’s life by jumping on every crack I see on my walk for my Saturday coffee. After crushing about 100 cracks with my Sambas, I call my mum to check in.  

“Hey Mum, does your spine happen to be broken?” I ask timidly.  

“Darling, I’m fine. But are you okay?” her English accent coming out more when she’s concerned.  

Funnily enough, her spinal column is perfectly intact. But I don’t think she thinks my sanity is.  

After three long blacks, my journey continues. I look loony hopscotching around the main streets of Wellington. It doesn’t help when I run into a friend and they ask what I’m doing. “Oh nothing, just trying to injure my mum with superstitions,” I brush them off.  

I think I step on several hundred cracks by the time my day of violent intention ends. I call mum again just to find she’s drinking tea on the couch in perfect health. We should change the saying to: “Step on a crack and your mother will ask if you’ve been taking your meds.”

Smashing a mirror  

The Roman’s believed that mirrors reflected our souls. So, damaging a mirror meant damaging your own soul, which apparently takes seven years to heal... but I’m not sure what doctor conducted this study.  

It’s a sunny and dusty Sunday when I smash a small compact mirror on my deck with a hammer. 

Right off the bat, my day becomes lukewarm — in the form of a long black coffee and pastry that are both an off-putting temperature. Just what you need on a chilly Wellington morning. Although, this might just be the consequence of chain cafes.  

Beyond this, my Sunday remains quiet — unless you count my raging UTI wreaking havoc inside my vagina. However, I blame this more on myself not drinking water and peeing after sex rather than a broken mirror.  

Walking under a ladder 

In Christianity, the triangle form created by a ladder symbolises the Holy Trinity. Walking through this triangle violates the Holy Spirit. This superstition brings on a whole lot of general bad luck. The vagueness of this curse does worry slightly me. 

Before my Monday afternoon lecture, I spend a solid ten minutes in the Photography studio running in and out beneath a ladder. A great use of the new photo block.  

Everything is going smoothly, until I learn that I have a 1500-word artist statement due in a week. Is this my bad luck coming down hard? Or is it my lack of participation on Stream? 

Arriving home, I’m slightly disappointed that there has been hardly any consequences for violating the Holy Spirit.  

Luckily, I begin to hear a symphony of coughs and sneezes. I feel the zing of the holy spirit’s wrath -- my flatmates have all fallen sick! Hooray! The power I yield has real effects. Refusing to acknowledge how cold and mouldy the flat is, I apologise to my flatties with a slight smirk. They are not impressed.  

Opening an umbrella inside  

This superstition comes out of ancient Egypt, where umbrellas were used to shade royalty. Opening them inside was seen as disrespectful towards the sun god, Ra. And regardless of superstitions, it helps to avoid knocking over someone’s drink or stabbing them in the eye.  

This morning, Ra sure was beaming, making me look extra paranoid as I carried an umbrella to campus.  

I open my big black umbrella in every room I walk in. Over and over and over again. Right before I open and close it for the sixth time in my 9am class, my lecturer stops me, saying, “I’m not superstitious, it’s just annoying.”  

My bothersome demeanor continues, as I open and close my umbrella throughout the day. But my mood starts to decrease. Is it because I’ve been brought down by bad luck? Or are my biceps just sore...  

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In conclusion, I still don’t believe in superstitions. There was always another factor to point to the bad luck that came upon me — whether it be my mum's worries, bad breakfast, UTIs, sick flatmates, or a disagreeable mood.  

There is fun in believing little wives' tales, but they seem to do more for our social lives than our supernatural.