On Hope

Dear reader,

Did you know that a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope? What is a kaleidoscope if not perspective? And what is perspective if not a gateway to hope?

Photo by Shot by Cerqueira on Unsplash

I’ve been wrestling with hope my entire life. I’ve also been holding it like a bird in my palm, careful to stay still and savour the moment in case it chooses to flee. It’s always about how you hold the things given to you.

It seems like the world is doing the same. This week has been celebratory and tragic, hopeful and distraught, the entire planet feeling lost as the actions of a handful impact the story of our species.

Born in a city like Dubai, the first and last thing I was taught to think of - in all situations - was myself. You put yourself first, and you do whatever it takes to keep yourself coming first.

Born weak, sick, the runt of the family, the first and last thing I was taught to embody was strength - the kind that eventually makes you brittle, reckless, unaware. Sometimes this sickness makes me embarrassed to be alive. In groups, you are the only one who needs help. The only one suffering. The only one whose body doesn’t do what it is supposed to do. The only one young, and unable.

The thing about hope is that is makes you dream of something larger than the circumstances you find yourself in. It asks you to swallow your anger, compress your grief, throw your reason to the wind - and give in to faith.

I can’t tell you how many nights I have spent crying, screaming, half my mind racing with thoughts of everything I have to live for, half my mind trying to accept what I may have to let go of. It is an excruciating, exhausting experience every single time.

When you are chronically ill, you find yourself at a singular fork in the road of human experience. Your moments flit between joyful and desperate. If you have a few minutes of arrogance, karma comes quick. The interesting thing about this is that you witness the best and worst humanity has to offer, up close and personal.

Because when you are chronically ill, you become precious to those around you, and cattle to the wolves of the health industry. Some people feel your pain like it was their own, and others see a chance to turn you into a lifelong client. I have gone through 14 years of misdiagnoses, and doctors choosing not to understand. Thankfully, I have also gone through 24 years of deep love, care, and kindness from those around me - with and without medical expertise.

I cannot speak for war and all it entails. But I can speak for health. I can tell you that in the days since our headlines got that much bloodier, the air here is stifling. I cannot speak for war and all it entails but I know that this week, my lungs cannot find the oxygen it needs as easily. We forget that the dust kicked up from one man’s tired feet can travel much further than we realise. We also forget that solutions are very much possible. Peace is possible. Stability is possible. Hope exists because all of these ideals are rooted in reality.

The distance between Palestine and Bahrain, where I write this from, is 1640 kilometres. That’s approximately the length of India’s NH 66. For context, it’s less than a 2 hour flight.

What I know for sure, is that none of us will be well until all of us are well. The collective conscious is a very real thing.

So how do we start? If we take care of ourselves, we take care of our communities. If we take care of our communities, we take care of our world. We start by taking that first step, each and every time. We choose ourselves with the intention of choosing the potential this world can be. And we choose again. And again. Some say this is called love - and all love must begin with hope.

This week, I’m taking my first step towards healing for what feels like the millionth time. It sometimes feels cruel, this never-ending hope. It feels like shit honestly, to be sitting in a doctor’s office, listening to the idea that there is a possibility you can live without a consistent riot, having heard those words so many times before. But there’s no other option than to believe it, is there?

Heavy stuff this week, but I couldn’t not talk about it. The links below are a bit brighter though. I hope they inspire you to heal, to uplift, to hope, to dream.

Here are some links for your week:

Why Are We So Bad at Reporting Good News? on TED Talks Daily.

Connected: A witty docuseries on all the delicate ways in which we are intertwined.

A review of Who Is Wellness For? I wrote at the start of the year.

Ways to Help Gaza

Love always,

Kaav