THE Dream of Hope

 When the Sky Whispers Hope

These days, I wake up with a question that lingers longer than the alarm tone buzzing beside my bed: What is happening to my life? The world outside seems foreign, almost alien, changing faster than I can make sense of. Every day feels like a new set of rules has been written overnight—rules that make no sense, rules that seem to pull the ground from beneath my feet. It’s as if life is trying to see how much uncertainty I can take before I crumble. And yet, here I am—still surviving. Is that survival rooted in hope or belief? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s both. Or maybe it’s just habit. A strange habit of waking up every day and convincing myself that better is coming, even if I have no proof.

Living in a country where unpredictability has become the norm, I sometimes feel like I’m walking through a fog. You take one step forward, only to realise that the path you thought was there has disappeared. Policies shift, values crumble, and people seem more tired than they’ve ever been. It’s not just the economy or politics—it’s something deeper. It’s the soul of society that feels restless, unsure, and silently broken. And in the midst of all this chaos, I try to hold on to something intangible.There’s a star I often look at—every night without fail. I don’t know its name, but I recognise it like a friend. Some nights, it feels like it’s laughing at me, not in mockery, but in quiet reassurance. As if it’s saying, “Joice, don’t worry. I’m still here. You’re not alone.” And somehow, those nights feel less heavy. That single light in the dark sky makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, the universe hasn’t forgotten me. Maybe it’s just taking its time.

Then there are moments when I close my eyes, and I see a pair of eyes—soft, kind, and full of music. Eyes that don’t exist in my present reality, but feel real nonetheless. They sing to me in a language only the heart understands, “Joice, you are going to survive something good. Someone who loves you is going to come to you soon.” And those words, whether imagined or whispered by fate, stay with me. They echo through my loneliness like a hymn of comfort.I have not found that person yet—the one those eyes belong to. I am still searching, still hoping. Love, in all its forms, feels distant. Not because I don’t deserve it, but because sometimes the world has a cruel sense of timing. People come and go. Some leave memories, others leave lessons. But the one who’s meant to stay—the one who will hold my hand when the rules of life change again—I haven’t met them yet.And so, I live in this strange in-between space. Between what is and what could be. Between reality and dreams. Between despair and faith.

But here’s what I’ve realised: maybe life isn’t about having all the answers. Maybe it’s about waking up, even when you don’t want to, and taking the next small step. It’s about looking at the sky, even when the clouds are heavy, and believing that the stars are still behind them. It’s about hearing music in silence, finding beauty in brokenness, and learning that being lost doesn’t mean you’re not on your way.There’s a certain grace in not knowing. In surrendering control and trusting that something beyond our understanding is guiding us. I don’t mean it in a religious sense—though it could be—but in a human sense. In the way the universe sometimes conspires to bring people, moments, and healing into our lives at the most unexpected times.

I think of all the days I thought I wouldn’t make it. Days when my mind was heavy, my heart tired, and my soul almost silent. And yet, I’m still here. Breathing. Trying. Hoping. There’s a quiet strength in that, even if the world never notices. Even if the country I live in never makes it easier. Even if love still feels like a distant melody. You see, we all have something that keeps us going. For some, it’s family. For others, it’s ambition. For me, it’s this strange, stubborn faith that something good is waiting for me. That one day, I’ll look back and realise that all this confusion, all this waiting, had a purpose.

Maybe the person I’m meant to find is also looking at the same star. Maybe they’re wondering if someone like me exists—someone who sees beauty in small things, who writes when words feel too much to carry, who loves quietly but deeply. And maybe the universe is just waiting for the perfect moment to let our paths cross.Until then, I’ll keep looking up at that star. I’ll keep listening to the silent songs of hope that play when the world is too loud. I’ll keep believing that even in a country that feels chaotic, even in a life that feels uncertain, there’s still a reason to stay. A reason to smile. A reason to wait.

Because maybe survival is not just about breathing. Maybe it’s about dreaming, even when the night is long. Maybe it’s about believing, even when belief feels foolish. And maybe—just maybe—it’s about loving yourself enough to trust that your story isn’t over yet.So here I am. Still walking. Still wondering. Still whispering to the sky, “I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not giving up.” And in return, the sky whispers back, “I know.” 

                  Joice Joy