Hope? Hope is what fuels us. Hope is what pushes us to move forward.

Hope is what allows us to bear through the most difficult times, in those hopeless situations, we still hold out that sliver of hope to get us through.

We cling to hope, we hold on even when it seems like all hope is lost, we believe that things can get better. Hope really is a central facet to humanity—just as much as emotions and our consciousness are. And it is something that should never be taken away, never be ignored, never be passed off as unimportant, and is very much intertwined with the concept of destiny and free will.

It is hope that allows for both the existence of destiny and of free will, no matter how contradictory that may sound. We hope for a destiny that is good to us, that it will be something we can only wish (hope again!) for it to be. We hope that we can make the right choices, we hope that we will have a real choice—that we are in control. Hope drives destiny and free will to exist in parallel, but it also drives a stake through the central heart of both concepts. 

But let’s deal with these two concepts for a moment. I don’t really have a problem with destiny, I really don’t. In my mind, free will and destiny can really coexist. What I have a bone to pick with, however, is the possible effect of my knowing of my destiny to the course that I “choose” to take in the future.

If I have a destiny, and I find out what my destiny is, does my destiny take into account the fact that I know my destiny? In other words, if I make a choice based upon my knowing of my destiny, does my destiny already reflect that? Or would my destiny change based upon my knowing of it, but wouldn’t that mean that destiny isn’t finite? Or if my destiny does take into account that I know of it, then that means that I, in fact, _needed_ to know my destiny in order to fulfill it. 

The one thing I regret the most out of the last four years is having so many regrets. On the long, laundry list of things that I regret, however, the one thing that reigns supreme is trust. I believe(d) that trust is center and core to any strong friendship, but somehow I was proven wrong. Somehow, I’m left feeling that I trusted all the wrong people, and I confided in all the wrong friends. Trust is my key to stability—and stability is something that I have always craved since I was a child but never found it, and still have not found it, in it’s right form.

I wouldn’t give anything to go back and redo any of this, however, it’s just so not worth it. I’m glad that I’ve managed (per the words of a friend) to make some new friends this year and I know that although I might not have confided in them my troubles, spending time with these guys have made senior year significantly better. And I guess that’s the lesson I’ve learned. That trust might not be the key, and I need to be more careful.

I’ve tried so desperately hard these past few months to let go of friendships that were perhaps doomed from the start, and ensure that the ones that can endure will last. I hate how easily people can change, but I guess I’ve changed as well. I’m done bitching at those few friends who I feel like don’t participate in the give-and-take that I find fundamental to any friendship, and ready to end those friendships on a good note, right after I say a big f*** you to them.

More than ever, I’m ready to close this last chapter and forget what needs to be forgotten, and put away what deserves to be remembered. I’ve sworn to myself I’m not going to let any of the people here or any event of the past hinder my future, and I’m confident I’ll be going into Wesleyan as myself—complete and whole—and stop believing in naïve and impossible ideals.

There isn’t a moment I don’t wish there are words that I can take back, but I think I’ve managed to figure out a way to deal with them being out there and move on.