Living with hope is infinitely better than living with expectation. When I live with expectation, I erroneously convince myself that I’m entitled to so much. When I expect things from people, I assume that I’m significant enough to have such an expectation. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Maybe they just owe me because of what I may have done for them, but then that would taint my original intentions of being selfless. So I can’t maintain such an expectation because it makes me feel insincere. And I despise insincerity. I despise selfishness. I despise people that are oblivious and complacent. They’re oxygen thieves and probably the biggest contributors to that big hole in the sky. Social liabilities.

Hope, for me, is believing that it can be better…not necessarily that it will get better, but the realisation that it can be better seems to offer some comfort. Some hope. A distant altered reality that’s always within reach but just out of my grasp…but even if just a mirage, it gives me purpose, I think?

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