"Hope dangles on a string // Like slow-spinning redemption // Winding in and winding out // The shine of it has caught my eye // And roped me in // So mesmerizing so hypnotizing // I am captivated // I am..." - Dashboard Confessional, "Vindicated"
Zara dress // Mango blazer // Topshop heels // Rue Gembon earrings
Hope is a funny, dangerous, manipulative game. It feeds on the hungry romantics, the desperate achievers, and the weeping weak. And us overzealous selves believe in it like the gods we are missing, finding religion in its intangible mystique. It's the fire we let burn eternally inside us as we continuously feed what is left of our precarious energy to it because if there is any integrity to believing, it's in something we are hysterically hoping for. We stuff the rest of our sane eggs in its endless basket, pray to the light of hopeful fate, and nest its sanctions in our everyday decorum. The kind of fire with everlasting light to guide our faith and wade a path of promising direction when we are at a trudging loss. But it's also the same fire with burning intensity that can destroy us painfully and scarringly.
Hope is that sinking anchor into a bottomless pit as we let it drag our conviction to the grave of unknowingness. We frantically give up our absoluteness and righteously hand it over, without having an idea of what for exactly. We entrust our fate in the arms of hope and absolve our guilt from direct blame if it means turning an eye to what is concrete and real, hiding from the hurtful truth of reality. But while we're shedding light in mysterious shadows for ourselves, we're also fooling ourselves. Manipulating our minds into a bad jinx. We hope and hope, without realizing we're also setting expectations to a possible unrealism. Things may turn awry and what else is there to blame but ourselves for heaving hope on our unpostured backs. We rest this tired strength onto it like it will give us a safer, weightless meaning.
It's a careful balance to teeter. So easily mistaken for the positive light we find imperative to our fading spirit but so natural to find purpose and meaning in something unknown and uncontrolled. And as aware as I am of this double-edged sword as my resting belief, I also find solace in its quiet resolution. I can't help but leave my destiny up to the fate of hope; it brings as much peace to my mind as it does unsteadiness to my heart. But it's about balance. And I'm finding my balance.
Photography by Sutthaya