Hopes and Fear

Knock, knock! Hello, hello, guys! 🌱

Hope is a fragile bird; beating its wings inside my chest, desperate to live.

Fear is the storm; merciless, chasing it down until it shatters against my ribs.

I joke about coffee, about bitterness wrapped in warmth, but the truth is nothing warms me anymore. Not even laughter. Not even silence. Last night, my body betrayed me again. The dizziness, the nausea, my stomach twisting like it wanted to devour itself. I curled into a blanket against the merciless cold, clutching a soft panda plush as if it could hold me together. As if its stitched seams could keep my own from tearing apart.

I closed my eyes, but instead of sleep, I fell into another world. The world of who I used to be. Do you know what it feels like to look back? To step into your own past; it’s like meeting an old friend. But that friend is you. The old you. The naïve you. The you who still believed. The you whose heart was untouched; whose soul had not yet cracked.

And yet, when you despise who you’ve become today, that journey is no longer a reunion; it’s a funeral. It’s a graveyard where you stand face to face with the corpse of who you used to be. Sorrow drips like endless rain from every memory; the air is heavy with silence; cold seeps into your bones. And you realize; you are mourning yourself.

When you go there, the ghosts rise. Every emotion you buried claws its way back; dragging you by the throat. The pain screams like it never left; bitterness coils around your chest, squeezing until you can’t breathe. Hopelessness swallows you whole; despair rips you open. The betrayal still bleeds; the grief of isolation becomes chains around your wrists, dragging you down into a darkness so deep, you wonder if light was ever real.

And in that moment; you realize you are both the mourner and the one being mourned. Because the grave you are standing at; is your own. And the cruelest truth? If you don’t rise; no one will weep for you. No one will save you. No one will even know you were here.

So...

Wake up Sofie! You need you.

The old you waits for you; begging to be saved with new memories, with a life that doesn’t ache. But you never came. You left that version of yourself standing in the ruins, clutching nothing but dust. And still, you told yourself lies to keep breathing; whispers that tomorrow would be different; that you would rise; that healing was just around the corner. But every promise you made to yourself was only deception; and the cruelest part? You believed it. You built a home out of illusions; and when it collapsed, it buried you inside. Now you stand here, surrounded by the rubble of your own words; wondering if you were ever capable of saving yourself at all.

I always asked myself, "Apa yang buat awak takut sebenarnya Sofie?"

I don’t think I’m afraid; or maybe I am. The truth is, I can’t even tell anymore. I don’t know myself the way I once did. I stand in front of my own reflection; it feels like staring into a stranger’s eyes. Inside me, hope flickers like a fragile flame; it shakes; it trembles; whispering that maybe tomorrow will be gentler than today. Yet fear is there too; heavy and suffocating; wrapping itself around me like chains I cannot break. I carry both within me; hope that aches to rise; and fear that drags me down; and in that constant war, I am left confused; torn; helpless. Some nights, I pray I could choose one; but the cruelest part is that I wake up every day with both; and I don’t know which one will win.

Hope and fear; two shadows that never leave me.

Hope is the fragile light I keep cupped in my hands;

a flickering candle that whispers, “Hold on; tomorrow might be different.”

But fear is the wind that won’t stop blowing;

trying to snuff that flame out;

reminding me of every failure; every scar; every silent night I thought I wouldn’t survive.

Hope tells me I can still rise;

fear laughs and asks, “What if you fall again?”

Hope paints me a picture of everything I’ve ever dreamed of;

fear rips the canvas apart before the colors dry.

Some days, I wonder if I am made of both;

a body that wants to heal;

and a soul addicted to breaking.

And in this constant war between light and shadow;

I ask myself;

am I strong enough to carry hope;

or will fear always be the one that carries me?