Call me Clark.
The symbols of hope in my life.
Welcome to my journal! It echoes my thoughts and feelings as I journey through life. I hope you connect with what you read. If you enjoy this journal, please subscribe.
Do you know that the S on Superman’s chest doesn’t stand for Superman? In Man of Steel, Henry Cavill enlightens us that on Superman’s planet (that’s Krypton, for anyone auditing me) the symbol on his chest stands for hope. Side note: Kal-El’s dad also wore the same symbol, so are we to imagine that it’s something like a coat of arms? Does Superman come from the house of hope? Also, is the not-an-S a letter in their alphabet? Greek letters are concepts within themselves, Omega is a part of the alphabet but also means ‘last’. I think that the S definitely originally stood for Superman when he was first written back in the ’30s, and that the whole hope thing was thrown in later to create depth in Superman’s backstory. My cynicism aside, that symbol took hold of my thoughts this week and I began to wonder what symbolises hope in my life.
The rays of sunshine that have been more and more present in our spring days seem to brighten both the faces and the spirits of the people I pass on the street here in Berlin. We had a long, dark winter (or it was for me, especially compared to the ones I grew up with in Cape Town, where the winter sun sets at six o’clock) and the new light is pulling people out of their homes. The empty streets I used to walk are filled, now, with people sharing breakfast. The once bare fields in Tiergarten are spotted with picnic blankets. I think I see more smiles. My girlfriend and I sat in my local park on Wednesday morning and watched three or four dogs playing with each other while their owners made small talk. It was wonderful to see my neighbours all laughing at their dogs, who ran in circles on the lawn, tangling themselves and their owners up in their leashes. Perfect strangers, sharing beautiful, banal moments. The same park was empty a few months ago, before the sun called everyone out of their homes. I often miss the playful and inviting nature of South Africans (maybe our attitude is owed to all the sunlight we get year-round), and witnessing moments like those people having a little, human interaction makes a hope bubble up inside of me. It is a hope that this city will feel more and more like my home—warm and warm hearted. Where I feel that I am a part of a place and its people, not just a visitor. Maybe the city has always been full of the welcoming spirit I’ve longed for, and it only took the sunlight to help me see it. I’m not sure if the sun brings everyone hope, but there certainly is excitement in the air. The Berliners are defrosting.
My little apple tree is a symbol of hope, too. It’s barely a seedling, actually. I harvested the seeds from a box of apples I bought in winter and began germinating them a few months ago. When they were ready to be planted I chose the perfect candidate to be buried in the soil. I watered it according to a strict routine for two weeks. I measured the soil temperature. I made sure it had the perfect indirect sunlight. Nothing. After all the careful research and consideration I had put into the plant, my efforts had yielded no results. I put the pot outside in a last ditch attempt to encourage growth, thinking that the spiratic warmth of early spring might encourage it to sprout. Still nothing. I gave up on my apple seed after that, thinking that if it hadn’t grown in the optimal conditions I had given it in my room and it hadn’t grown in the week it spent outside, it was never going to grow. I didn’t water it, didn’t check on it, didn’t lift a finger. After a month of secretly hoping that my apple seed would make it, but fighting the logic that it was probably dead, the leaves breached the surface. I was overjoyed when I saw it. It’s only about an inch tall, but it’s there. And growing! My plan is to grow the seedling in its current pot until it needs more space. Then I want to plant my seedling somewhere special. There it will continue to grow until it really is a tree. In my dreams, its apples are crunchy and sweet. My children will climb it and my family will sit in its shade together. I hope that my seedling grows into a big, strong tree, and outlives me.
Funny, I think that that great big S on Superman’s chest is supposed to represent the hope he is to other people, the hope that they might be saved. Superman, too, is in need of hope. He also finds himself in a new world, hoping to be accepted by its people, hoping to make a difference, hoping to make a new home and build a new family. Almost everything on Clark’s list is on mine. I want this great big city I walk through every day to be a part of me, and I want to be a part of it. I want to know the people, I want to help and learn and laugh and give and, in return, I want this to be my home. I am building a new home and a new family here. Sometimes it’s slow going. Sometimes it looks like the seed is dead, like regardless of how much German I learn or how many people I meet, I don’t feel like I click here. Maybe, though, my roots are settling into the soil. Maybe my new leaves are just about to break through the soil. The sun is out, it’s time for new growth and new life! Like the man in red and blue, I cling to the symbols of hope in my life, I just don’t carry them on my chest.
Though I do carry my proudly South African Sealand bag with me most places, maybe that can be my symbol. If you enjoyed this journal, please share it with someone you love.