I Am Hope.

Just a little over a year ago, I would ride the bus to school. I would take a seat near the window, put my headphones on and stare at the changing scenes, as October skies flooded with clouds and delicate sunlight. I’d look into them and lapse into deep analysis of where I was heading. I didn’t know where I was heading. The map had the coordinates, the map had every detail.. but I still didn’t know where I was going.

In that bus, with music in my ears, I’d breakdown to tears from panic. I’d remember the things I want to do to reach my ideals and feel so small before them. I’d cry fearing to fail. I’d cry feeling lost and confused because I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want to do right— oh world, please let me do it right this time.

On the bus I’d remember that I’m all alone. I had just lost connection to ones that mean to me most and my heart was empty. It was struggling to feel safe in the most safe places, because it was lonely. It wanted to hear some beautiful words. It wanted a warm embrace. It wanted a shoulder to cry on but the only thing it found was the coolish surface of the bus window to lean on.

I’d wear my sunglasses. I didn’t want to go to school anymore. I had to announce the commencement of some major project I planned. I had to meet my instructor to adjust schedules but I felt so small and hurt— how could I ever succeed? How could I ever fulfil my expectations?

Just over a year ago, I started to listen to my weaknesses. They were all I saw. All I projected. All I worked on. All I failed at.

A year later, I’m in the very same bus. I’m wearing newer sunglasses. The headphones in my ears are bursting with music that makes me smile. I am thinking about the value I get to deliver. I am thinking of the strengths I need to portray. I remember that distant companionship that leaves me in awe with magic. My heart writes poetry about the nearby morning moon and shedding silk-floss blossoms. I’m listening to audiobooks and pausing every few minutes to allow those splendid notions to sink in.

I’m unbelievably that same person who was riding the bus just a year ago. Warm tears start rounding my eyes as I remember the pain I used to feel. I pat my old self on its back. I hug her. I tell her that it’s okay now, that it all passed. I whisper to her that those storms didn’t kill her because she is right here, thriving, hoping and glowing.

I wouldn’t have ever imagined myself not regretting the pain I’ve been through but here I am, thankful for it. I am grateful for this darkness because without it, I wouldn’t have experienced those breakthroughs. I wouldn’t have tried to find a way out. I wouldn’t have leaned closer to the truth.

But it was hard. I will not tell you it was easy. I had to live 365 days of utter confusion in order to get through. I had to face each day not knowing yet trying to know the map towards hope.

And now I am that hope. I am that little ray of sunshine that was hidden behind the clouds because it’s okay now. I’m free. I am in love with the universe I get to live in with all its flaws; the downgrading society, broken spirits and clamped traumas. I am in love the with the grass and trees.

On this November evening, I am hope— simply because I’m here now. I’m in this light experiencing inner rapture despite all else. I was always hope, even on those nights I let those tears stream from guilt and vulnerability.

And you are hope, too, despite the season. Your life will transform and you’ll stand up on your feet. You are hope because you choose to believe that it exists, and you shall rise in the morning like it has already manifested.

Hope is always how we never fail to manifest it.

Oh dearest world, I am hope.