I still remember the haze of last December as though it were yesterday—empty skies stretching over dusty roads, with everyone clinging to the promise of rain. The year had dragged on, marked by uncertainty and the dust of unfulfilled promises. We moved through it like sleepwalkers, simply going through the motions while waiting for something—anything—to change. Yet, beneath the withered fields and the ceaseless demands of daily survival, a small part of me believed a brighter day would come.

Last year had been, if I’m honest, a bit of a tumbleweed. A relationship crumbled, my career path felt like a dead end, and the persistent question—“What am I even doing?”—took root deep in my soul. The global challenges we faced weren’t just headlines; they became personal stories etched into the worried faces of our neighbours, into the empty chairs at family gatherings, and into the quiet streets of once-bustling communities. Yet somehow, in the depths of winter, we found warmth in unexpected places.

Now, as this new year unfolds, I carry forward not just hope but the wisdom born from its absence. In a small room at the back of our home, I began writing—not lofty goals or affirmations, but simple observations of the world reawakening around me.

This year isn’t about forgetting the past; it’s about acknowledging scars, disappointments, and lessons learned. It’s about accepting that life is a messy, unpredictable journey, and that sometimes the most remarkable growth happens under the harshest conditions.

My turning point came last autumn—an experience that was equal parts terrifying and thrilling—when I decided to return to university. For months, self-doubt had run rampant in my mind, insisting I wasn’t ready. But the moment I stepped onto campus, I felt a spark of possibility. Lecture by lecture, assignment by assignment, I rediscovered a sense of purpose I hadn’t realised I’d lost.

What struck me most was how many of my classmates carried their own struggles—some juggling full-time jobs or raising children alone, others fresh out of school and encountering an uncertain world for the first time. Yet day after day, we all showed up, driven by the belief that tomorrow could be better than yesterday. In that environment, hope wasn’t just an abstract concept; it was a collective energy that grew each time we supported one another.

As I look ahead to the coming semester, I’m filled with both excitement and nerves. There will be challenging exams, endless reading lists, and study groups that push me to think in new ways. But where I once saw obstacles, I now see stepping stones. Each hurdle offers another chance to learn, adapt, and grow. With every small triumph—whether mastering a new concept or simply surviving a tough week—I realise that renewal isn’t about skipping past difficulties. It’s about slowly, steadily becoming the person, I’m meant to be, one step at a time.

Gazing out at the sky, I can’t predict what this year will bring. There will likely be setbacks and moments of doubt. But this time, I feel equipped—armed with the knowledge that I can weather the storms. I’ve learned that hope isn’t some distant ideal; it’s the small, persistent spark of possibility that lives within each of us, waiting to be ignited.

Thinking back, I’m amazed by how my spirit seemed to awaken alongside the land. I noticed the warmth in my neighbours’ greetings, the heady scent of blossoming jacarandas, and the gentle surge in my heart whenever possibilities replaced despair. Week by week, I found reasons to keep going: the laughter of young cousins playing by the roadside, the kindness of strangers sharing fresh produce at the market, and the quiet reassurance of my parents’ faith in me.

With the promise of this year shining before me, I feel the stirrings of renewed hope. The challenges haven’t vanished; I still worry about finances, the toll of climate change, the scourge of wars in Sudan and the DRC, the unrest in Mozambique, the tragedy of child marriage, and the overall state of the world. Yet, deep down, a strength I once thought lost has resurfaced. Perhaps that is the essence of hope—the certainty that no matter how often the sun sets on our expectations, it will rise again just as brightly.

This is what renewal truly means: not erasing the past but having the courage to take all that we are—our scars, our failures, our hesitations—and transform them into stepping stones towards something greater. In this new year, I choose to stand tall, shoulders no longer weighed down by lost dreams, and eyes firmly set on the horizon. A single seed planted in faith—whether in my mother’s garden or in my own heart—holds the power to flourish.

And so, I move forward, not in desperation to escape what came before, but with the quiet confidence of one who knows that even the longest night must eventually yield to dawn. The future remains unwritten, but my hands are steady as I turn the page and begin again…