There are days when the body feels heavier than usual. Days when the mind becomes a labyrinth of memories, of paused dreams, of silences that scream. Days when nostalgia seems to win and the declaration sits beside us like a shadow difficult to shake off.

In those moments, when there is no longer any strength left to fight with words or reasons, a simple and powerful gesture emerges: raising your hands .

Raising your hands is an act of surrender, but also of faith. It's acknowledging that pain, loss, and inner struggles are too heavy to bear alone. It's accepting that some wounds don't heal with logic, but with hope.

In depression, the mind whispers that nothing makes sense. In nostalgia, memories insist that the best is over. In paused dreams, we feel they will never come to pass. But by raising our hands, we open an invisible door: the door of surrender to God, the door of the dean in eternity, the door of comfort that doesn't depend on circumstances.

That gesture is a wordless prayer. It's saying to heaven, "I can't go on anymore... but I know You can." And in that instant, something changes. The pain doesn't disappear, but the certainty that we are not alone emerges.

Raising our hands is accepting our fragility and, at the same time, finding strength in the silence. Because sometimes, when everything stops, all we have left is to believe... and that is enough.

"I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from?"
My help came from the Lord, who made heaven and earth."
Psalms 121:1-2