The Art of Hanging on to Hope with Both Pinkies Crossed

There’s something irresistibly cute and oddly beautiful about how we humans cling to hope like a kid clings to the last piece of chocolate. We dress it up in rituals, lace it with superstition, and sprinkle it over the tiniest of acts — all in the name of giving life just a little push. And honestly? I find that downright magical.

Think about it — we’ve collectively decided that the universe listens at exactly 11:11. That’s the VIP slot. The official wish hour. It didn’t matter where you were — in class, half-asleep during tuition, or pretending to do homework while secretly doodling your crush's name — the moment you saw 11:11 on the clock, you’d whisper a wish in your heart like it was some kind of cosmic customer care window. "Please let me pass math. Please let him text back. Please let mom forget I broke the glass." We truly believed the digits had powers. And who’s to say they didn’t?

Then there’s the eyelash ritual. Lose a lash? Great! Pluck it off your cheek, blow it away, and boom — wish granted. But of course, if you forgot which cheek it fell from, that was it. Game over. The wish was null and void. Childhood rules were strict.

Let’s not forget the iconic “touch wood” moment. You’d say something like, “I’ve never failed an exam,” and immediately scramble to touch anything remotely wooden — a chair, a table, a stick, even your friend's head (because surely that’s solid wood, right?). And if you couldn’t find wood in time, you'd start panicking like you just doomed your entire bloodline.

And remember birthday candles? You had to blow all of them in one breath or the wish wouldn't count. The pressure was real. One stubborn candle would ruin everything. “You didn’t blow it out in one go — you’re going to be single forever,” your sibling would tease. And there you were, eight years old, already heartbroken about your nonexistent love life.

One of my personal favourites? Temple threads. You tie it around your wrist or on a sacred tree and suddenly, you’re spiritually GPS-ing your way to dream jobs, good marks, and a surprise reply from your crush. Sometimes, if you’re really dramatic (hi, it's me), you tie one thread per problem — looking like a heavily decorated sapling by the end of it.

Then there's the chaotic, high-stakes world of childhood tile games. “If I only step on the black tiles, I’ll be lucky today.” And suddenly, you're hopping through the mall like you’re in an Olympic long jump final, while strangers look on like, “Are they okay?” No, ma'am, they’re just securing their destiny, one tile at a time.

Oh, and "he loves me, he loves me not" with flower petals. The ultimate suspense thriller. You’d pick the ugliest weed flower from the roadside and start plucking it like it held the secrets of the universe. "He loves me... he loves me not..." The last petal would dictate your fate. If it ended on “he loves me not”, you’d find another flower. No one accepted that outcome. Not on your watch, Daisy.

And of course, let’s not skip the step-counting rituals. "If I reach home in 100 steps exactly, I’ll pass tomorrow’s exam." You'd slow down, take baby steps, then long strides, then shuffle weirdly trying to manipulate fate through your feet. And if you messed up at step 96, you'd walk back a few steps and start all over again — because why risk it?

But here's the beautiful twist: these small, silly, sweet things… they weren’t really about magic. They were about hope. The stubborn, shining kind that keeps you afloat when things get heavy. When nothing else makes sense, these tiny acts become lifelines. They make the chaos feel a little more under control. They remind us that sometimes, believing in something — anything — can be enough to pull us through.

In the darkest of days, hope doesn’t come in grand speeches or fireworks. It comes in candle flames, in plucked petals, in whispered wishes at 11:11. It comes in crossing your fingers behind your back and leaping over tiles like your GPA depends on it.

So here’s to those moments — innocent, irrational, ridiculous… and incredibly human.

Because maybe we don’t know how to control life. But we sure as hell know how to make it a little more magical while trying. ✨

P.S. If you see 11:11 today — don’t forget to wish. I already did. (It was about chocolate. And maybe love. Okay fine, mostly chocolate.)