In deep contrast to usual new year’s eve festivities, last year (because we’ve officially transitioned to 2021) was the first time I never even came close to considering writing a post to celebrate the year that was. And what for? With countless natural disasters, a piling death toll, an increasingly authoritarian regime, a global pandemic, and Nami and Lily’s loss, it felt incongruous to celebrate, much less celebrate loudly. In block letters. In high-resolution images. In print.
But when I woke up this morning to witness the first sunrise of the year (I wasn’t able to, as today has been a cloudy, cool day), I realised there were a few things still that merited recognition and thanks; if only because there was no way I’d be able to survive this year as I have, with battlescars, a little traumatised, but — by all counts — alive.
In January I got to celebrate with decades old friends, after having visited the desert after a long time. In February I started to allow myself to open my heart and be brave again. March saw me become a registered yoga teacher, and while this is when the pandemic started to spread and the government ineptitude, already known, started to exacerbate things, the next few months were witness to happy memories stuck in a resort, swimming daily, hanging out with Nami, and relearning my love for yoga and running. In June I turned 26, in and of itself a triumph, and in July I didn’t let go of life, even though I was dangerously close to.
In August I brought home Elle, my white ball of sunshine, and since then I’ve had more reason to live than I have in recent months. Through September to November I stayed with my parents, fought for justice, and reminded myself of how brave I can be if I want to, and if I believe in myself enough.
December is me 5 months self-harm free, the healthiest I’ve been, with a love for biking, and an almost giddy excitement for the year ahead.
I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here.
Time is a social construct, and the idea of years being divided into chunks of months and weeks and days and hours only a way by which we can understand the world.
Be that as it may, I’m glad 2020 has ended, and that 2021 gives us a metaphorical reset — another journey around the sun, another chance to be better, another promise towards happiness.
And so for 2021, just four things — to dive deeply towards courage, to keep chasing the sun, to continue fighting for justice, and to stubbbornly cling on to hope.
Survive the new year, everyone. 🙂
Of perpetual finds 