A Musing on Hope

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“Shackles of confinement and mental prisons afflict such joy. The phantom of woes preys by consistently chastising our flaws and voiding our minds.” Father had always been a bit of a sage- his wisdom was unparalleled to anything else in this world- but I simply assumed that he was embellishing a simple statement. “What do you mean by that?” I replied. Sighing deeply, he stated “Without expectancy, or doubt, a multitude of hardships will STRIKE! And you, just like any other being, will succumb to all of life’s afflictions ” Chuckling to myself, I simply ignored him. Sure, father was wise, but he was also senile. With the state he was in, I didn’t think too much about the words he spoke anymore. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that there would be an underlying truth to his statement.

Without warning, my zest for life vanished. It was as if an otherworldly presence had taken over my body, demolishing everything in its path- my optimism, motivation, and happiness. Every day had felt like a lethargic cycle- both physically and mentally. I no longer felt any sort of gratification from simple tasks. Even worse, the internal pain I experienced was hidden by a solemn, cheery facade.

Unsurprisingly, my father had seen through my poor disguise. One day, in a hushed tone, he began reciting his composition- the one he would recite to me as a child. Subtlety, father stated; “Hope is an abstract melody, sung in only the brightest keys of contentment. Akin to a polychromatic sky, its vivid colors never dissipate...Can you complete it?” he asked as he finished. Begrudgingly, I stated “Bred in indifference, such a world is an element of melancholy. But, hope is the yearning flame that ignites me within; a peculiar blaze that keeps me sane amid the tumult.” As usual, I didn’t take my father’s recitation seriously; it lacked meaning to me. Yet, once again, my preconceptions had failed me.

Little did I know that hope would emerge- despite these misfortunes. Like a budding flower, thriving during the absence of light, hope restored my avidity. Ever tranquil, its silent hymns rendered bliss, despite the circumstances I faced. While I continuously japed about my father’s verses, it was clear I was still so oblivious to the sincerity of his words: Despite the forlorn waves and rushing barriers, his flame of hope was never extinguished, and neither will mine.

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Published December 29, 2020

Written by Nana Opare-Addo ~ Edited by Fiona Xu ~ Graphics created by Elwin Fu