Crossing over
The last day of the year is magical. On no other day is everyone united by hope and dreams of a new tomorrow like New Year’s Eve. From gratitude to resolutions, we are taking stock of our lives, scolding our excesses, planning our journey and being optimistic about a new year. I sometimes imagine what if we did these every day of our lives — hoping, dreaming, and saying thanks.
2022 was a blurry one. I figured this when I sat down to remember notable scenes from the year, and nothing really stuck. Every memory seemed far away as half-truths. I barely remember what happened in my life.
My lover diagnosed my situation as always being in flight. That once it gets awkward or weird like when a mirror is in front of me, I run. I was on autopilot in 2022. Barely lived on my terms or on any terms at all.
I achieved quite a lot: led impressive campaigns, navigated a weird office drama, gained more friends, worked with a lot of international organizations, started a new team, improved on my skills, travelled on an official capacity for the first time, moved to a new apartment, got my first couch, represented the organization at a conference as a speaker and learnt that many things could be true at the same time. That I could be dying and be dazzling like a shooting star.
I lost quite a lot too: paid poor attention to my health, my godmother died, the ones that love me doubted my love for them and many left, money, sanity and I learnt that every time I think of jumping, I am betting on not flying. That I could disappear at the speed of sound, a thud.
I did not dream in 2022.
Never has a year tasted so bland and I swore not to sugarcoat its memory.
However, I am alive. Even though I have little enthusiasm for my existence, I am still here. I honestly hope for a better year in 2023 — one filled with a zeal to love life. I am afraid of making a promise but what is a new year without a resolution to break. Or see through.
