I hate zero and one, and the numbers after two, three, and four seem irrelevant. Now, before you call me insane for having an acute opinion on numbers. First, let me tell you a story of how I got to this conclusion. I was a child once — as we all were (or are) — and I was obligated (by social norms, of course) to fill out one of those neat notebooks where kids would make a psychological profile of their classmates — harvesting data with consent — over a mostly pink or blue sheet. I believe it was called a friendship book.

Nevertheless, when I first encountered the Necronomicon from Charles (my childhood friend), I filled it up with nonsense. As I don’t even know most of the answers to it myself, I only knew the answer to two questions: First, “Name,” Maria; Second, “What is your favorite food?” I answered, “Rice.” Anyway, one question always seemed constant in the book: the question of my favorite number. Back then, I had no clue what to answer, so I did write “one.” I always regretted answering half-assedly on that specific question. So I did try to find an answer to it. How do you ask? Of course, introspection can only be fueled by one energy source — silence.

Now let’s start with the supposed real number zero. Of course, negative numbers were out of my mind. Is it really real, though? In what sense is zero real? Adding zero to any number will equate to the same number added. Dividing zero with any number will result in gibberish. And dividing zero by any real number will yield zero. It’s painfully nonsense. I believe that zero will be better if categorized as a concept rather than a number. Same with infinity.

Next, one. I won’t even try to make a case with this number; it is just outright perverse, in every sense. It is a real number, yes. But can there really be a number that stands on its own? One can not be divided to yield anything significant, either. And refrain from making an argument about decimal places — I know they exist. If you answered a number with decimal places on the friendship book someone had you write, then I have a piece of remarkable news for you — you have no friends.

Alright, let’s dive deeper into this numerical whirlwind. After one comes two. We’ve already established that two is a delightful concept. It’s simple, you can count it on one hand — hold up two fingers, and bam, there’s your representation of two. But let’s scratch the surface a little bit more. Two, oh, the sweet number two. It’s as if the universe decided to add another one, resulting in something rather beautiful. It’s the bedrock of the binary system (a one and a zero), for heaven’s sake! Without two, we wouldn’t have the basic premise of our modern digital life. I’m not trying to add grandeur to two; it does that all by itself. Two is the magic number that brings balance to the world. It represents the existence of an ‘other’ and the concept of relationship. From the binary opposites of yin and yang to the positive and negative charges in an atom, the idea of two is woven into the very fabric of our reality. It signifies balance and completeness, the harmonious coexistence of opposing forces. It’s not as dull as one or as troublesome as three. Two is a baby.

Now two plus one equals? Good. Here we go with three, another beautiful mess. Oh boy, three, but bear with me. It is the gray to the black and white. There’s a peculiar charm about three, isn’t there? It’s like the rebellious middle child in a family of single-digit numbers. Always causing ripples, never conforming to the symmetry of its even siblings. And yet, it holds such a profound place in our world. In storytelling, there’s a three-act structure: setup, confrontation, and resolution. It’s there in the Holy Trinity of Christianity and even in the Hindu triumvirate of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Heck, we live in a three-dimensional space! But let me tell you, it is not just about complexities or religious symbolism, or spatial dimensions. No, it’s something more intangible, like the essence of being the odd one out, the harmony in discord, the beauty in asymmetry. The moment you introduce three into the equation, you’re essentially welcoming potential imbalance and chaos. I mean, did you ever play on a see-saw with three people? It doesn’t end well. But listen, what if three is in itself the number equivalent of the devil? Well, not the lousy devil kind, but the quirky argumentative devil sort of thing. And come on, three looks good! Write a three and tell me I’m wrong — I dare you.

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And then we stumble upon the prissy, symmetrical, too-good-to-be-true four. What can I say about four that doesn’t make me cringe with its apparent ‘perfection’? It’s as if two got a little too conceited and decided to clone itself. The fact that four can be halved to get two, and again halved to get one, as if it’s some kind of numerical Russian doll, is a little off-putting to me. What’s even more unsettling is that four doesn’t stop at being two twos; it’s also the square of two. Is there no end to this self-obsession? And to top it off, four is the number of cardinal directions, the number of horsemen of the apocalypse, and the number of elements in classical Greek philosophy. I mean, come on, isn’t it a bit too much to be the foundational number for so many things? But, multiple natural things in life fall into four, such as Carl Jung’s four main archetypes — the persona, the shadow, the anima or animus, and the self. If I recall correctly, he also had an opinion of the number four, calling it a world-creating deity or something. I know he is crazy, alright. It’s so ingrained in our daily life that it almost becomes overwhelming! And who wants to deal with overwhelming numbers on a daily basis? Not me!

So, do you see the intricacies, the hidden narratives behind these numbers now? They are not just numerical values to be used in arithmetic; they represent complexities, simplicities, dualities, and a multitude of other facets of life. They are more than just symbols on a paper or digits in a computer; they hold philosophical, cultural, and even personal significance.

Let me call him now.

“Good evening, Charlie. I choose three… What do you mean by ‘too late?’. Is it my fault that the analysis of your Necronomicon took me ten years? It was your fault for bringing up philosophical questions to a child! What? What coffee? Yeah, I’m free tonight. Okay, see you.”

Now, whether you choose to embrace the zero’s nihilistic void, one’s lonely existence, two’s perfect duality, the complicated charm of three, or four’s blatant over-achieving nature, it’s entirely up to you. But remember, when that friendship book comes around, choose wisely — there may be a yin and yang — or fire, water, earth, and air — who gives a crap about that. In three, you have freedom. You are in the middle of the see-saw, not necessarily helpful, but you have the freedom to get off it — maybe ride on the other side to cause imbalance or leave the darn balanced numbers on their own. Maybe make a three-person see-saw. Or a triangle bomb… “Come in!”

“Hello Mari, bought us three coffees.”

“The fuck? We’re only two here. Why are you wasting money?”

“But you said…”

“Save it,” I replied.

“Looking pretty tonight!”

“Thank you, and can you not talk? I’m thinking.”

“Damn it, Mari.”

Choose three. Be the chaos amidst the order. Be three. Alright? It’s three. Just… Damn it. Or maybe seven? Okay, three it is.