Hope for the hopeless

Saturday, Nov 20, 2010.

I sit in the fore front of a market square. Noises and echoes all around me. Lots of words are being said but I can’t make out a single one. Hustling and bustling. Voice of hope amidst regrets a sound of insecurity and that of uncertainty. Head busting out, I can’t make out a single clear thought. I look around me and suddenly all I see is me, alone in a silent, lonely room. The market has come to me or I have gone to it, it must be one of either. How did I get here? Where am I going next? What shall I do? Rains of unanswerable questions, all for the sake of a brawl yet so simple. I’m just trying to find my way out of this prison. I thought I did it all to avoid this, why should it keep coming back. Darkness is overly inexhaustible, as if it’ll never go away. So when I think of my diary, I see hope still among all troubles. The only hope that sustains me is that it’s been worse before; I didn’t know how it got this good, I need not know how it’s going to get better. There’s a hand above that guides a dark part. I have faith in the finger that directs the powerless. Hope, my hope, I trust in you, if only for you hope, I can still wake up back to reality and live for the unknown expedition. Hope, I have faith in you.