My Little Self.

I woke up one morning before the sun; it was dark and quiet. The ordinary sounds of buses and cars have vanished into the unknown and the whole world is sleeping, but the morning is busy with fading starlight and spring bird-songs.

I remember that nothing is the same anymore. I won't be rushing this morning to clean and prepare myself for the day. It's all new but utterly the same.

I wake up and I ask myself: "what does your future look like?"

I turn the question inward and let it reflect upon the mirrors of my mind, and so it beams with parallel answers that keep diffracting from one angle to another. I can think in terms of melancholic darkness all the way to ecstatic hope at the same time, but this morning, it feels more at home to feel afraid.

I'm afraid because I am not sure what the future looks like anymore. This intense state the world is experiencing is more of a battle of survival and a graveyard of buried hopes for so many and I cannot help but ask if I'll be one of them. What is happening to the dreams I almost felt up close in proximity? They are somewhere in the unknown realm that I cannot fathom anymore.

This morning, I think of summer. I think of airplane rides being forsaken to establish safety and solidarity. I think of sisterhood bonds remaining strong across the distance and my heart falters. Sometimes I think that those summers hold up my strength to endure the lonesome times; they give me hope that there is a home waiting for me down the path, where I could feel loved and give love so fearlessly in return. Those summers symbolise safety and healing transcribed through laughter and lullabies hummed underneath starlit skies. Sometimes it feels like the thought of those summers give my heart a reason to be content.

Those lonesome fears slowly touch my heart as the morning ages, and I feel dimmed. I look around me and I'm alone. I'm so alone. I think of the friends I have and how distant they are. I think of my uprooted family. I think of this world and feel like all the people I love are so detached and far away.

And I need them. I spend so much in this lonesome space longing for genuine connections. I long for hearts magnetised by truthful belonging. My skin screams for a loving touch or a supportive embrace. My eyes pray for a loving gaze, through which I can find a true reflection of myself.

The joy I treasure in the next couple of months might slip through my fingers this year and all at once I wonder if I should be investing so much of my energy and love into the little moments of everyday. May I just pause for a moment and feel this dull ache surge through my insides? May I allow myself a time to grieve for the uncertainty of my future? Happiness feels so foreign now that I have to let go the hope of seeing my very mother and sister again. 

I get outside and my face bathes in the infant streams of light. The little child inside me dances cheerfully and smiles as the sight emerald green leaves reaches the brims of my irises. I'm flooded with beauty; transcendent beauty, one that exerts little effort to flaunt itself. I listen to the little child inside me, that little Soraya, and she longs to be heard. She wants to know that it will be alright one day, and that even if the worst happens, she'll be loved and embraced and told that there is always a better horizon to search for in those misty times.

And so I do as she tells me. My hearts starts beating for hope. My mind is synchronized and it fetches its dearest dreams; ones of sunshine and dances performed round a small living room. My soul sings in terms of magnetised optimism, and it echoes the melody back to my heart, and suddenly the ache subsides like a wave back to the shore, leaving behind seashells and soft beds of sand.

I am alive again, little by little. Summer is coming and miracles will happen. Miracles will eventually find the dreamers, and I am nothing but one, a dreamer by day to conquer those lonesome fears.

You're not alone, dearest little Soraya. Keep dancing. Keep closing your eyes and face the sunshine and miracles will find your way.

What does the future look like, little Soraya? Perhaps I'll listen to you today.