It is hope that had got me here to this point. I had struggled against all odds: the recriminations of my mother, the disapproval of my step father, the plane delays, the loss of my luggage, the quick disappearance of my wallet. But I stood now in front of the home I had travelled all this way to see. The home that I hoped would become mine once again. The home that I had been pulled away from unwillingly when I was a child.
I had held the hope in my heart that I would be here again during all the years I had grown up in a country across the world. I had yearned to be here, with all my heart and soul. The hope had keep me going through the taunts directed at the kid with a strange accent and limp. My hope had sustained me through the lonely hours at school, or at the house where I lived. The goal I had burning in my heart to return to this place was what had encouraged me and pulled me through the solitary years. My hope was that here I would find again acceptance, love and contentment.
I take a deep breath and try to still my beating heart. If my hope is to be destroyed, I do not know what I will do. Pulling my suitcase behind me, I limp slowly towards the red door. It looks the same as it does in my memory: a gleaming red door with a well-used knocker inviting visitors. I raise my hand and rap timidly on the door. After a while, I knock again with more force. I hear footsteps approaching and the sound of laughter. My heart races and I eagerly await for the door to open.
“Emily! Is that you? My child, we have missed you so!”
The door opens and, with these words, my grandmother envelopes me in her warm embrace. Her love and warmth surround me. My heart settles down. My hope has become reality and I am welcomed back into the home I had thought about for all these years. I step in through the doorway and I know that I will never leave here again.
Has hope kept you going through bad times?
(This piece of fiction writing was inspired by Jakes prompt: Hope)
© Colline Kook-Chun, 2013