'Hope' - Anthology

Life doesn't always follow the plans we lay down. Had you asked me 10 years ago what I would be doing with myself this year, little of what I am currently doing would have featured in my monologue. At the beginning of 2020 I felt full of hope and opportunity. A feeling that everything was still in front of me. Plans had been made to buy a house, to have a big 30th party, and to spend a month travelling alone. But as we all know: "life is what happens when you're busy making plans".

I, like most of us, found myself in a world of uncertainty - wondering whether my career in the travel industry would survive, and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the three major things I had hoped to do for myself this year, would not be happening.

Many Australians took the first lockdown in their stride, and made plans to up skill, get crafty, tackle those chores they'd been putting off, and simply engage in things for the pure joy of it. Most of us had the time now. For the four weeks of my stand-down from work, I learned to bake bread, and I took French and calligraphy lessons. As the weeks wore on, we, as a Victorian community felt hope, frustration, fear and devastation, followed again by a glimmer of hope, that maybe we will see the other side of this after all.

The desire for self-improvement in those first stages had left us, and only a feeling of survival remained. Gone were those early ambitions of learning to sew, reading a new book every week, or starting a Master's Degree - This was replaced with new ambitions of getting through the day without snapping at those around you, and actually brushing your hair before the Zoom meeting at 11am. Self-improvement was replaced with self-care, and if that included a wheel of baked brie and good cry, that was absolutely fine.

It seemed inevitable that the glimmer of hope should begin to shine again as our days began to warm and lengthen. Self-care in the form of a block of chocolate was now being abandoned for walks in the sunshine, and the stirrings of imagination about the simple things we had missed; like coffee from a cup, picnics in the sun, the embrace of a new lover and the smile of a stranger.

Many lives have changed beyond recognition this year. We have learned to adapt, remembered the value of community, lamented our lost freedoms, indulged in simplicity, and realised what is most valuable in our own lives. And, we have hoped. This year I have learned that there is no better balm for a sore soul than hope.

Louise Frankeni

Class of 2008