Asha

Recently I was visiting in the Gach. I was talking with a girl that I hadn’t met before. She didn’t speak much Bengli, but she spoke some. We were having a nice chat, and then I asked her what her name was, and she said, “Asha” – hope. And then I said, “hey, I have your name written on my wrist – but that’s not why I wrote it.”

So, I begin my explanation (the short version) of why I had the word “hope” tattooed on my wrist. I explain that I believe there is always hope…that sometimes our lives are very dark, but even then…

…and then a customer came up behind me…and he called for Asha…one word…a command. “Asha” – it’s all he said. All he had to say.

…I was stopped mid-sentence…and she walked away.

…and I was left trying to sort out the interaction…suddenly feeling like my words are incredibly trite. (okay, really what I did was shove the interaction to the side and continue visiting…neatly compartmentalized until I had time to actually think about it…feel it…) Hope…there’s always hope…really?!?!? “even though our lives are dark, even then there’s hope?!” What good did hope do for Asha that night (or any of many other night either, for that matter?!). What right to I have to speak of hope? What do I know of hope?

…this interaction – it haunts me. These days I hate explaining my tattoo…cause every time I give the explanation I am immediately back in that narrow alley – where a man walks up behind me…and commands Asha to come…and she does. She doesn’t have a choice. Every time I say it my words feel hollow. Resoundingly hollow.

I don’t actually believe what i feel right now. I don’t think my words are hollow…not really…not cognitively…I do think I know hope…and I do think I should talk about hope…and I do believe that hope has the last word. I believe there will be freedom and restoration…all things made new…but right now, none of that seems to be true…right now all that seems hollow.