In a world fractured by displacement, fear and uncertainty, we are reminded that the human spirit can still flourish and that we have the power to be pilgrims of hope.
By Lauren Thomasse, winner of The Good Oil 2025 Writers’ Award.
In the quiet hum of Melbourne’s laneways, amid the clink of coffee cups and the shuffle of hurried feet, I met Amina. She is a pilgrim cloaked in quiet courage and determination. Three years ago, Amina arrived in Australia, leaving behind her village, once alive with laughter and shared meals, now reduced to rubble.
“Hope,” she said, “was the last thing I carried when I left.” Despite her losses, her eyes shone with an unwavering determination to build a life from fragments of the past.
Upon arriving in Australia, Amina’s journey began simply. At first, her new home was overwhelming: the unfamiliar sounds, the strange streets. Initially, Amina questioned her place in her new country and longed for the familiar sights, tastes and sounds of her old life.
Over time, Amina discovered the power of small practices and rituals to both structuring her day while also bolstering and nurturing her reserves of wellbeing. She discovered joy in small rituals: tending to her balcony garden, sharing a meal with friends or taking quiet walks through her local park.
These moments remind her that resilience is nourished not just by deeds, but by self-care and reflection. In tending to herself, she models for others that surviving and thriving are intertwined. The practices gave Amina the foundation from which to slowly branch out further. Subsequently, she enrolled in English classes and volunteered at local shelters. Slowly, she wove herself into the community. With every act of kindness she gave and received, a new thread of belonging formed.
One rainy afternoon, she invited me into the small community centre that she helps run. It was a modest space that has become a sanctuary for refugees and locals alike. Walls adorned with children’s drawings and shelves lined with donated books told a story of resilience. A community coming together to draw strength from one another. Over steaming cups of tea, Amina shared stories of families she had met. Some families found their footing quickly while others struggled with fear and isolation.
“I remember one young boy,” she said, “who wouldn’t speak at first. A few of the other ladies had told me about him. I knew his story and the horrors that he had been through. He would just stare at the floor, too afraid to look up. He did this for months, but I waited. I am an old woman now and I know that nature will not be forced to work any faster than the speed that it is meant to travel. Slowly, slowly, little bit by little bit, he began to trust that he could belong here too. He opened up and he began to share his story.”
Amina’s behaviour reminds us that hope is not just a feeling; hope is a practice, an act of faith, something cultivated by listening, offering a hand and walking alongside someone even when the path is uncertain. Pope Leo XIV reminds us that, “Peoples, nations, and all creatures need those who choose to move towards communion.”
Amina embodies this spirit. She does not seek recognition; she simply moves toward others with compassion. The ripple effect of her deeds is felt in laughter returning to silent homes, in the smiles of children gaining confidence and in the quiet pride of adults learning a new language or skill.
Yet Amina’s story is also a reminder of hope’s fragility. She faces bureaucratic obstacles, moments of despair, and the loneliness of starting over in a foreign land. She admits that there are many difficulties along the journey and that she still has pangs of despair when she thinks of her home country. Still, even on difficult days, she shows up, knowing that small acts accumulate into something transformative.
Walking back through Melbourne’s laneways after our meeting, I noticed the subtle ways the city mirrors her journey. People from all walks of life pass one another, sometimes brushing shoulders, sometimes pausing to offer a smile or word of encouragement. The city itself becomes a tapestry of pilgrims, each navigating challenges yet capable of offering hope. Amina’s journey teaches that being a pilgrim of hope does not require extraordinary power or wealth.
It requires presence, empathy and the courage to keep moving forward when the world seems indifferent. In our daily lives, countless opportunities exist to embody this spirit: a listening ear to a neighbour, a word of encouragement to a friend or a moment of patience with a stranger. These are the pilgrim steps that bridge isolation and despair.
As the sun dipped behind the rooftops that evening, I thought of Amina’s words when she was explaining why she does what she does: “Hope is the thing we carry in our hands, even when our hearts are heavy. It allows us to keep walking, believing and creating a place where others can belong.”
In a world often fractured by displacement, fear and uncertainty, her journey stands as a beacon. It reminds us that the human spirit can flourish even in exile, and that we each have the power to be pilgrims of hope. We can have the courage and dignity to be companions on the path toward a more compassionate, connected world.
The Good Oil 2025 Writers’ Award is an initiative of the Sisters of the Good Samaritan in partnership with Garratt Publishing.
