When I was a kid, I used to hope that my mom will change.
But she didn’t.
When I was 14, I used to hope that the person I fell in love then, will always love me the way I am and always be there whenever I need a home to go back to.
But he didn’t. Six years after, he became someone who left.
When I was 20, I hoped that my nephew whom I raised with lots of care and lots of love, will look at me as a mom and love me as one.
But I wasn’t. I was just a replacement for my sister. No matter how many times I said it out loud, I was just an aunt. She might never be there, but she is a mom.
And I’m not.
And I hated how true that was.
But the biggest hope I ever hoped for was this :
To not lose myself no matter what I went through. To keep on staying strong no matter how many times I feel hurt. To stay up when life brings me down. To keep loving no matter how many hatred I learned. To keep on staying warm even when all I ever learnt was coldness.
To keep on shining brightly even in the brink of darkness.
And I was doing them just fine until I realized I wasn’t.
I don’t know when it began, that I was crumbled, weak, and cold.
So, did I stop hoping?
No. Of course not.
The thing about hope is that sometimes, well, most of times, it came from our own insecurities. Fears that were kept deep inside the dark part of our heart.
Fears that triggers us to do better, and to change what can be changed. Even when we know it might be something unrealistic, something that might end up ‘never will be’, we hoped anyway.
Because to hope is to believe.
And no matter what, I believe in myself.