The illusion of hope

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"Now that your dad is dead, how do you hope to fulfil your dreams?" That was what he said to me, but all I heard was, "Your hopes are dashed, and your dreams will never be fulfilled because your dad is late."

Till date, any time I recall that scenario, I can't help but wonder and ponder if my then friend, Akan, was aware that he was merely reminding me of how messed up my life has become.

He can't possibly be held responsible for what he never said. If for anything, my brain should be blamed for interpreting the question the way it did. But why should it be blamed when it was merely processing every bit of information it received based on the reality that was staring it in the face?

For one, I was merely an impressionable teenager who was far from being street smart. My dad, while alive, never wanted me to learn how real life operates. Life could be harsh. He knew it. So he became my armour and did all he could to shield me from the harsh realities of life.

Not only that, he was preparing an arsenal for me. All he wanted was for me to be well-armed enough to face life, so I could defeat it with ease. Education was the only weapon known to my dad. He believed that one could conquer life with the right and sufficient education.

I was 17, fresh out of high school, when my dad died, but up until his demise, he never allowed me to earn a paycheck. All he wanted me to do was read, and he was more than ready to sponsor me until I attended the highest level of education.

"Read your books. Don't worry about anything." He'd often say, with his calm voice, whenever I told him that I wanted to pick up a menial job between holidays, the way some of the boys I knew were doing.

Now that he's no more, my friend, Akan, had tonnes of reasons to be concerned, and my brain had a plethora of reasons to believe that everyone could see through the mire of mess I was wallowing in.

My dad might have sent me to school, believing that education would be my biggest defence against the wiles of life. I must admit that he was right, only that the education that mostly helped to weather the storms of life wasn't one I got from the formal school system he sent me to; it was the one I got from him. That man, my dad, was unapologetically positive. He dared to hope, even when the odds were against him.

"I would rather live in the illusion of hope than wallow in the reality of hopelessness. To hope is to live. To be hopeless is to die, even while you're still alive." Dad will often say, when people try to tell him, that his optimism is unfounded.

I had just locked my mum's clothing shop and was strolling home with Akan when he threw the question at me. If not for hope, I would've told him that I felt exposed to the harshness of life because my armour had been destroyed before I had the chance to build the weapon I could use to face life. I really wanted to tell him that I don't know how to face life without losing. I desperately wanted to tell him that I'm finished. I wanted to say that I don't know how to live.

Instead of giving in to hopelessness, I remembered my dad's mantra of hope: "I would rather live in the illusion of hope..."

I felt engulfed by his spirit. The truth is, I have been weak and spineless for days since his death. But walking down the dusty, rugged road, a symbol of everything I was shielded from, I found a strength whose origin I'm still oblivious to—a boldness that I can't yet tell where it came from.

After carefully brooding on Akan's question for what seemed like hours, I turned to him. I could read the surprise on his face. And the surprise was well justified because, between the time he asked the question and the time I was ready to give him my answer, a new man had been born of hope. This new me didn't look unsure. If for anything, he looked more than ready to face life. In fact, he sounded like he'd already figured everything out.

"Akan, I'm mourning my dad, not mainly for what he would've done for me, but because he wouldn't be alive to see the beautiful man I'll develop into."

Akan was further taken aback. He gave me a look that suggested that I didn't know what I was saying. Maybe he was right. But considering my options, that was the best reply I could muster. My mind had to be tricked into believing that it could stay alive.

The trick worked. It has been over a decade since the incident. Looking back at the years, it's no lie that I have grown into a beautiful man of whom my dad would've been proud. All this happened because I dared to hope.

I'm not exactly all that I want to be, but as long as I keep hoping and dreaming, I'm pretty confident that it's only a matter of time.