It’s hard to believe in human nature these days.
Countries invade each other. Wars rage. Civilians suffer. Ecological warnings grow louder. Artificial intelligence accelerates faster than our ethics. Even the future itself feels fragile — as if it could tip in the wrong direction at any moment.
More and more people quietly ask the same question:
Will humanity even survive?
And if we do — will it be worth surviving?
In this climate, hope can feel naïve. Trust can feel irresponsible. Believing in a positive future can seem almost delusional — like wishful thinking in the face of overwhelming evidence.
And yet.
Maybe there is still hope anyway.
Not the loud optimism that pretends everything will be fine. But a quieter, more grounded hope — one that exists despite fear, not because fear is absent.
The Fear of the Future
We are living inside a collective anxiety about what comes next.
Climate collapse. Political extremism. Technological power without wisdom. Economic systems that demand endless growth on a finite planet. It’s no wonder so many people feel that humanity is on borrowed time.
From this perspective, believing that we can survive — let alone create a better world — sounds naïve.
But maybe that’s the wrong conclusion.
Because fear has a way of shrinking our imagination. It convinces us that what we see now is all that’s possible. That conflict is inevitable. That cooperation is fragile. That humans, when pushed, will always choose destruction over care.
History tells a more complicated story.
Yes, we are capable of immense harm.
But we are also capable of extraordinary adaptation — especially when old systems break down. Maybe that is even the core feature of human nature? Adaptation? Because, if it is something humanity has done over millennia it is this, adapt.
Naivety Is Not Weakness — It Is Strength
But today we’re taught that trusting others in dangerous times is foolish. That skepticism equals intelligence. That cynicism is realism.
But cynicism is easy.
Distrust is easy.
Closing your heart when the future feels threatening is the most understandable reaction in the world.
What’s hard — and therefore strong — is to stay open while fully aware of the risks.
The person who dares to trust in dire times is not ignorant.
They are courageous.
That kind of naivety is not blindness. It’s a conscious choice to refuse fear as a governing principle. It’s choosing connection over armor. Imagination over resignation.
Anyone can assume the worst.
It takes strength to believe something better is possible — and to live as if that belief matters.
Why Literature Still Matters
Positive literature doesn’t stop wars.
It doesn’t dismantle failing systems overnight.
It doesn’t save the world by itself.
But it does something quieter — and more essential.
It keeps the inner flame alive.
Stories, novels, and reflections remind us who we are beneath conditioning and trauma. They stretch our sense of what’s possible. They keep the future from collapsing into inevitability.
A single book won’t change the world.
But books change people.
And people — slowly, unevenly, imperfectly — change the world.
Even cheering each other up matters. It’s not trivial. It’s resistance against despair. It’s a refusal to let fear become the final authority.
Imagining a World That Works
This is where the novel, Waking Up – A Journey Towards a New Dawn for Humanity, begins.
Not with the assumption that humanity is doomed — but with the question:
What if we survive?
And what if, after everything we’ve been through, we finally grow up as a species?
The story follows a contemporary man who wakes up into a future where humanity has grown up and moved beyond money, war, and fear-driven systems — not because humans became perfect, but because they were forced to face the consequences of the old world and chose differently.
It’s a work of speculative fiction — but also an act of trust.
A trust that humans are capable of learning.
A trust that cooperation can replace domination.
A trust that naivety, in the deepest sense, might be our greatest strength.
Keeping the Door Open
Maybe hope doesn’t arrive as a solution.
Maybe it arrives as a story that refuses to give up on us.
Or a sentence that lands at the right moment.
Or the quiet realization that believing in a positive future is not weakness — it’s an act of courage.
If nothing else, literature keeps the door open.
So that if humanity does make it through —
