Finding Hope in the Little Things
Amy Hill
By Yakuta Poonawalla, San Francisco, California, U.S.
Just a month ago, I was with my parents in India. The start of the year 2020 brought a strong urge for me to spend time with my parents, and I had decided to listen to my heart and gut and visit them in March.
In the two weeks I spent in India, we witnessed the world change dramatically. It became obvious to me that the virus knew no boundaries of immigration, economy, caste, religion, walls, electric fences, or borders of the human mind. It spread, and spread, and spread, and literally has forced us to question our entire being, and hold on to anything and everything that gives us hope and faith to carry on.
As my return date to the U.S. approached, a connection in Europe was no longer safe. Some suggested I delay my return, but most just wished me well. My friend V. handed me a tiny cloth pouch bag containing a mauve colored garnet stone which I didn’t know was my birth stone. My friend A. gave me a horseshoe that he had found on a Himalayan trail. My dear mother, a pious Muslim, made another little pouch of nazrulmukam (an assorted mix of money, a prayer and a photo of the leader of the community that is believed to keep the evils away). I picked my own good luck charm, a heart-shaped leaf that I had found in my mother- in- law's garden!
The Fernandes family sent me prayers from the church, neighborhood aunties and uncles sent me prayers from the mosque and a temple. An invisible angel was requested specially for me by a friend who had had a word with someone up above. I’ve run away from religion all my life, but I embraced and welcomed it all. V., K., and A. kept me safe and cheerful ‘til I was on my own. I took my bags, which by now were definitely overweight, with all these newly added wishes and prayers of safety, hope, and faith, and headed to the airport to board the flight.
With flight cancellations and a long layover at one of the busiest airports in the world, my search for a quiet and calm space drew me to the multi-faith prayer room, a 12 X 12 feet room, half of which was carpeted for our Muslim communities to say their namaaz on, and the other half which had tables and chairs with bibles placed neatly on them. I put a scarf over my head, something I normally don’t do, took off my shoes, placed my backpack in a corner, and spent most of those layover hours sitting cross legged in the women’s section of the Muslim namaaz area. The chaos and looming fear made me sit in stillness, and tap into my own reserves of hope, faith, compassion, and empathy. It allowed me to cope with my fear and brought me back to San Francisco, where my second home and community awaited me.
In my 36 hours of traveling from India to the US, I tightly held onto symbols of faith, hope, and love, and in the last month, we’ve all been forced to find it in the nooks and crannies of our homes, and deep within. May we continue to find hope and faith - in nature, in our communities, and deep within. And then may we continue to use our privilege and awareness to give a voice to the voiceless and make the invisible, visible.