Hope is a Scent the Breeze Carries

I slept in, and I woke up around noon. When I did, I found my wits sitting at the lounger amidst all the clothes I had to put away into the cupboard. I opened the door to the balcony and saw the tree in the parking rustle excitedly as if it were welcoming me into this day. Today, the sky seemed clearer, and so was I. Now that I had rested enough, I stretched with a sigh. I stood there, my arms on the dusty marble sill, and I looked. At what, you ask? At nothing. My gaze targeted nothing at all. I felt the wind through my hair, and the stream of recurring thoughts about life moved through my head parallel to the wind outside. Then, it occurred to me that my lassitude until yesterday was just that: there was no reason but the need for a good night’s sleep and a moment or two.

It makes me laugh how most, if not all, cynicism can be chalked up to exhaustion. When I am weary, I am difficult, and when I am tired, I am angry, and when there is no one to rage at, I rain hell at everyone, at the whole world. Despite the vigour and energy I show in front of others, I quickly tire, a habit I probably picked up from my father. I could not know for sure, however, since he would never admit it. Perhaps, I am better in that—that I admit it, and perhaps, that is how things improve—a generation at a time. Perhaps, our anger at the world is not about the state of the world, but in how it is not and how we want it when we are here, that we will die eventually and never get to see it in our image. But the world has seldom been like any of us have wanted it. Almost all cynicism can be chalked up to exhaustion; what’s left can be left to its own devices. There are better things today: the wind is still blowing, lives are still being lived, and attempts are still being made. In the end, we must be sure of our goodness, that people are collectively good.

Today, after months, I feel my heart beating loudly. There is so much hope in this breeze, this placid day ahead of me. I wonder if the others can feel it. The trees all around town dance to the persistent whistle of nature. What else could I feel today if not joy?

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