The start of the decade bore witness to bright-eyed Joy in her senior year of high school — fiery, argumentative, passionate, and certain she was going to be a lawyer. In career day, that’s what she told everyone she would be — voice of the voiceless, defender of the oppressed.
The end of the decade saw Joy sign the roll of attorneys, the culmination (and in so, so many ways the beginning) of the fulfilment of 16-year old Joy’s dream.
The year that was, I’m sure you know, has not been the kindest, mental-health wise. Too often during the year I’ve found myself nursing scars, hiding them beneath hordes of hair ties, coming up with excuses for cuts on wrists, from mundane (cat scratches) to downright bizarre (simultaneous paper cuts from legal documents).
The scars, they still remain. But two other things are present and felt: first, a profound sense of pride for seeing the year through, and second, an even more profound sense of gratitude for those who kept me afloat.
It has been a year. It has been a decade. And when all is said and done, I am nothing but glad I stayed.
Of perpetual finds 