It's a new year, full of resolutions (or resolution) and hope.
Hope is a funny sentiment. It's purportedly the only thing that didn't escape from Pandora's box. Some say hope is a good feeling that comforts us in times of misfortune; others claim hope is an evil because it deludes us into thinking we can control the future.
I'm going with "good" when it comes to hope. And because hope didn't flee when it had the chance, we're often full of it (among other things) at the beginning of the year.
Last year, I was lucky to have most of my hopes become reality. Jon J. Murakami and my book, "The Original Poi Cats on O'ahu" was released in the summer; I finally started law school; and after a lonely two months, my husband Derek got a job here in San Diego as a teacher at an elementary music conservatory.
On the other hand, while I celebrated personal happiness, people in New Orleans, Indonesia and Pakistan were hit by natural disasters. The one thing that stood out, however, in most of the news specials, TV interviews and articles was hope. The mayor of New Orleans hoped for his city, the Indonesians hoped for recovery, and the Pakistanis hoped for a new day. Those of us who were not right there with them hoped for them as well.
But hope doesn't always have to be about survival and restitution. It doesn't even have to be about a book release, law school and a job. It can be about silly things, too.
Hope is about change, any change, no matter how large or small.
"I hope that crosswalk sign changes so that I can beat the line at Starbucks."
"I hope these li hing sour watermelons that have been in my bag for two months are still good."
"I hope Derek cleans the litter box."
Hope's all around us. But it's often true that the more things change, the more things stay the same.
When Derek picked me up from school the other day, he seemed more tired than usual. He told me the kids had boundless energy.
"Well, they're kids," I said. That's always a good answer. Why did Johnny kick Susie? Because they're kids! Why did Sally put gum in Mike's hair? Because they're kids.
Derek continued, ignoring my astute observation.
"I wrote a word on the chalkboard and asked them what it said. One of them raised his hand and said, 'cricket.'"
"Wow. Hard word!'"
"But it didn't say 'cricket.' It said, 'C-A-T.' That didn't stop at least two other kids from raising their hands, too. And both said the word was 'cricket.' But the word was still 'cat.' After that, I asked them what a turkey was and they said a "duck."
"Well, they're kids." OK, the second time around didn't sound so astute. I also abstained from reminding him that it was a good thing a classroom is not a democracy.
Derek shook his head in slight frustration. "So I told them, 'No, a turkey is a bird.' I then asked them what kind of sound a turkey makes and do you know what they said?"
I shook my head.
"Quack!"
By this time I was cracking up - and then I realized later that law students aren't very different from kindergarteners.
Last semester our civil procedure professor asked us a question only to have three of us volunteer the same wrong answer in three different ways:
"Why did the attorney get sanctioned?"
Hand madly waving in the air: "Because she didn't do her research?"
"No."
Another hand shoots up, madly waving in the air.
"Because her research wasn't done?"
"No."
One more hand reaches for the sky: "Because the research she needed to do wasn't done?"
Cricket, cricket, cricket. You could practically hear the little guys chirping.
Our professor asked us another question, which resulted in three of us anxiously raising our hands - with the wrong answer.
"Why did the defendant win?"
Student No. 1: "Because the plaintiff lost?"
"Yes. But no."
Student No. 2: "Because her lawyer did her research?"
"Errr... yes, but no."
Student No. 3: "A turkey says, 'Quack?'"
Nope, there isn't much difference between us and our 5-year-old counterparts. And it's pretty obvious that the one thick thread that joins us is hope.
We're all hoping for the right answer - that our knowledge will prove to be useful. What keeps us raising our hands after being rejected time and time again? Hope.
Cicero said, "While there's life, there's hope." He was right. It would be a dreary world without it - one without crickets and dreams.
As for my hope for the New Year, this time around, I'm just hoping for the right answer - aren't we all? - and that somewhere in the world a turkey is saying "quack.'
Illustration by Jon J Murakami
