Invisible strings and not-so-random encounters

Tell me what you did on the 14th of April

Someone I don’t yet know is now living the things they’ll tell me about later.

I talked about that with a friend a while back. We were sitting on a sunny dock, listening to waves and talking about life and dating; wondering who we’d end up with, what their names were, what they were doing that day. 

Actually wanting to know, and to remember it, we recorded a video with the intention of showing these “someones” someday, saying: “Hi, what were you up to on the 14th of April 2024. We were out here *films scenery* talking about you.”

I’ve always found it fascinating how strings intertwine. There is nothing I would love more than to see how close I’ve been to a future friend or partner throughout my life. All the almost-interactions and synchronicities.

Maybe we’ve driven past each other on the highway. Stopped at the same gas station 10 minutes apart. Perhaps we’ve listened to the same song at the same time once. Taken the 12-tram home. Looked up at the sky. Been awake at 04. Maybe they’re in the background of a tourist photo I’ve taken, or I’m in one of theirs.

We go about our lives not knowing when we’ll suddenly bump into someone special. Someone we’ll connect with and care about, one way or another. We often think we stumble upon these people randomly, by luck or chance. To some degree I believe we do. But not completely.

A friend of mine goes on a cross-country skiing trip with her dad every year. Three years ago they skied seven hours to a public cabin in the middle of nowhere, staying the night. A foreign older man had arrived at dawn the next morning in a bit of a rough state, not having made it in time before dark. They helped him and spent the morning talking. Then they went their separate ways. 

On this year’s trip, having arrived at yet another cabin in the middle of nowhere, my friend and her dad sat down to eat. At the table next to them sat the same man. They locked eyes and recognised each other immediately. Here they were, from different countries, having picked the exact same rural place at the exact same random out-of-season weekend, again. Parting ways, my friend jokingly said: “Maybe we’ll meet again someday,” and the man answered: “Oh I know we will, because our minds think alike.”

It got me thinking that a lot of random encounters aren’t necessarily that random. Our minds think alike. In some ways we are destined to meet the people who enjoy what we enjoy. Who prioritise the things we prioritise. Appreciate what we appreciate.

I stumbled upon this Korean word recently: in-yeon. It’s similar to the concept of fate, specifically about relationships between people. How some are destined to cross paths. How it may seem like a small thing at first, but every encounter is a culmination of events, and they all hold weight. It’s described in the movie Past Lives:

“I think it comes from Buddhism and reincarnation. It’s an in-yeon if two strangers even walk by each other on the street and their clothes accidentally brush because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives. If two people get married, they say it’s because there have been eight thousand layers of in-yeon over eight thousand lifetimes.”

I don’t know if I believe in fate or not. But perhaps fate is just another way of saying in-sync. That it’s due to how we function as individual beings – the sum of our everyday choices and actions – that we end up meeting.

Ultimately, this means the people we keep seeing or running into might be a good match for us.

And who knows, perhaps I’ve already met a future someone. Maybe it’s the stranger who asked if I was okay when I slipped on ice outside the store. The cashier who saved me from a professional coffee emergency. My waiter at a restaurant. Someone I follow.

Going back to that sunny dock talk with my friend, she had some imaginary specifics down for her future partner: Named Henrik. Danish, but lives in Norway. Owns a sailboat. 

I told her that if she wants to meet Danish-but-lives-in-Norway-sailboat-Henrik, she’ll probably have a better chance down by the ocean on a day like this, than at the club or an app, which were the current methods.

Seeking out the places people you are interested in would go to, is definitely a good tactic. Simultaneously I also believe you’ll probably bump into a fit match by simply living your normal life. By going where you like going, and doing what you enjoy doing.

Perhaps all this means we should pay more attention to the people around us. Who else is out on a walk this Sunday? Who else chose to read at this café? Is taking this class? Picked this exact corner of the Internet?

It’s not like I believe being at the same place at the same time necessarily indicates a match. I could sit at a restaurant next to the most horrible person in the world, and it wouldn’t mean anything other than the fact that we were both feeling hungry. But if there’s someone you keep seeing at different places, perhaps it’s because you have similar minds.

I’ve most likely missed out on a lot of these people. Both by not paying attention nor having the guts to strike up a conversation. It makes me wonder how many friends I’ve stood in grocery store lines with. How many soulmates I’ve sat beside on public transport without knowing.

Writing this, I realise I might be too much of a goddamned delusional romantic. I know what ifs are a waste of time. But I don’t care. I love what ifs. I love imagining all that could be and still can be. I love knowing I can run into someone tomorrow who’ll change my life for the better.

“The people I consider my best friends were at one point people I hadn’t met before. When I was a child, I had not yet heard the names of the people I talk to every day—the people I invite over for dinner and send funny tweets to and cry to and say I Love You to.”
- From this lovely piece by

Angelina Hazzouri

Because that’s the thing: I haven’t met all the people who are going to love me yet, and I them. They’re out there right now, going about their day. Dreaming and worrying about things I’ll get to hear about someday.

I won’t get to know all the synchronicities and ways our strings almost, or perhaps at one time, intertwined. I probably won’t recall what day I stopped at that gas station. I won’t know the exact time I looked up at the night sky. Watched that film. Went on that drive. But perhaps they’ll know what they did that day in April, at 16:05.

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