HOPE

It's almost been a month since I moved to SF this semester, and I have to say, it feels so much better than I expected.

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I've never lived on my own before. Well, technically I still live in a dorm, so I'm not really "on my own", but this is probably the closest I've ever gotten? I was actually a little worried before I got here that I wouldn't be able to handle the extra work that comes with doing everything for yourself, by yourself... but there was nothing to worry about.

I love the luxury of being able to go where you want to go, when you want to go, however you want to go. I love doing my laundry and folding it away into the crevices of my tiny single dorm room. I love packing my lunch to go to WeWork, or setting clean dishes to dry, or simply knowing that everything is going to be exactly where I left it.

The things I thought I would find as a burden, are actually things that make me feel secure in my being. Because they give me a sense of control over my surroundings. I might not know whether I'll have an internship this summer due to a plethora of reasons outside my control, but the dishes? If they're not done, that's on me. So when they do get done, that's also on me.

This is going to sound strange, but just bear with me. I also realized that I actually like being me. For a long time I resented my life, my body, myself. But now I look back at little middle-school Amulya and furrow my brow at the stranger staring back. I used to think I was so horrifyingly ugly. I mean, I'm no model, but looking back, I feel like I lied to myself. You're not ugly, baby Amulya. You're normal. And normal, I realize now, is so comfortable.

There's no panic of what will other people think? There's no constant expectation of who you're supposed to be as defined by your culture, family, history. And there's less reason to be cynical about life.

Now, I'm still a pretty cynical person, and I've always been. So imagine my surprise when I moved into a dorm room with a window framing a boring-beige building that lights up the word 'HOPE' every single night.

The first night I saw it, I laughed hysterically on the inside. I had just flown in and found my room in a state of chaos. It was like the natural elements reclaimed their territory in the absence of human surveillance. The window was wide open and dead leaves littered the floor. An empty chopstick wrapper, an insect trap, and spare change lay strewn across the dark blue carpet. And of course, I found some god-knows-how-old human toenail clippings buried between the carpet fibers. The most bizarre find of all was when I opened my drawers chest to find literal water inside. It took me a couple of minutes to compose myself after that one. I rocked the drawer open and closed to watch the water slosh about with reckless abandon. Cool. It's gross, but it's mine.

So I spent the next three hours vacuuming the dust off the walls and wiping down the murky mirror glass. I set up my space, showered, and plopped onto the stiff mattress. And as I gazed, exhausted, out of the window, I perked up with confusion. Do my eyes deceive me?

I got up to brush the curtains aside, and cackled as my eyes refocused. Good one, God. Real funny. Hope you had a good laugh.

And though I was sour on that long, tiring day, for the bright capital letters that felt like a middle finger to my face, over time I've come to appreciate that daily reminder: HOPE.

Whether it's a good day or a bad day, there is hope. Whether young or old, or tired, or excited, or amidst a global pandemic, or w h a t e v e r. There is hope. There she is. Staring back at you, unrelenting, like a cliche movie gimmick. Saying nothing more than has already been said. There is hope. There is hope. There is hope.

I've always been a pretty cynical person. And perhaps I'll always be. But you know what they say: “Scratch a cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.” I think it's time to stop being afraid of the good in life. Just because I can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. It just took me a couple well lit windows and the dark night sky to finally believe it.