The Personification of Hope

by Dania Kamal Aryf

Hope is a ray of sunlight that slips through the windows of a fourteen-hour flight, 
Hope packaged in a luggage bag, not more than thirty kilograms, because they expect a lot from you but you can never be too much, yet you should never be not enough; 

Hope is the faintest flicker of cell-phone signal while in transit at an airport that speaks in 
a language you don’t understand, 
the everlasting yearning for Wi-Fi connection, 
Hoping that someone from somewhere back home is still awake and would be willing to pick up your Hopeful calls, 

Hope is a metaphysical sense of being that transcends continents – 
Kuala Lumpur fades away like a web of constellations below me, 
and London looms in the distance
with the city of dreaming spires growing closer and closer 
into a physical manifestation 
of 
long term 
Hope,

an idealistic fantasy, a romanticised reality 
a city which had been constructed 
and built its foundations in your feeble imagination
through the most fragile bricks of Hope.

Hope transcends time zones and distances, 
an exchange of Hope through WhatsApp conversations from the other side of the world, 
the weight of Hope and expectations carried on the back of a crooked teenage spine, 

Hope manifests itself through the courage it takes to re-evaluate your identity,  
Hope prays that society will break free from a sense of judgement which does not place initial impressions on your outward appearance, sometimes tousled dark brown hair, 
or sometimes a purple cotton scarf;

But there are moments when Hope carelessly slips out through the windows of my room on Third Quad, 
and Hope gets drowned by the torrential, never-ending rain outside.
 
Hope occasionally gets overshadowed by an overwhelming yearning for a familiar face, 
and a desire to speak in a different tongue, 

Hope sometimes leaves my room without my permission and forgets to close the door,
Hope sometimes hides itself in the closet and refuses to come out, 

Hope flickers through the shuffling of feet and brushing of shoulders in corridors as I head to my first lecture in Examination Schools, 

Hope slips in and out of my fingertips, 
in and out of my fragile grip, 

Hope sometimes slips and trips and falls down Staircase Fifteen at 2-o-clock in the morning,
and almost gets hit clumsily on multiple occasions by cyclists on the High Street,

Hope sometimes feels nonexistent, 
Hope occasionally feels invisible, unheard, and unseen,
Hope often feels unsure, anxious and confused,  

but Hope is steadfast and vows to find its footing 
in this new place called Home.

The Poor Print

The Oriel College Student Newspaper. Run by students, with contributions from the JCR, MCR, SCR, Staff. Current Executive Editors: Fanxi Liu, Samanwita Sen, Monim Wains and Martin Yip

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