Having spent the past few New Year’s Eves wandering from place to place, this year finds me sitting on the sofa, sipping tea, reading, typing. A more grounded, more anchored year.
Every New Year’s Eve used to find me in the middle of something. In 2020, still driven by vanity, I wrote flowery words and posted screenshots of my Reading record and Flight annual summaries on WeChat Moments. In 2021, locked down on campus, I was queuing up to buy iron-plate sizzling beef for my roommates; my first time being bound by something tangible, though I only learned its name much later. I was irritable, angry, and I quietly vowed never to stand in this godforsaken line again. In 2022, I was arguing with the front desk at a youth hostel in Budapest; the guy, dangling a slice of cold pizza from his mouth, cobbled together a bed for me using a few bed slats. There was a circular hole in the window; I stuck my hand through it to count down, mimicking fireworks. I was dull to things back then. But dull people simply arrive at the truth a little later.
On the Eve of 2023, I sat in the airport buying tickets sorted by ascending price, flying via Cyprus to Naples, and then to London. I travelled with a calathea plant, and everyone treated it like a rabbit. Life feels like potato chips sometimes, and like a trampled potato chip bag at others, but it always looks shiny. Enjoying it to the fullest before the world is choked to death, every day felt like the scratch of a sunset in the sky, living fast and dying young. In 2024, as the midnight bell tolled, I clinked glasses with the smug Gatsby, followed by plenty of climax, and plenty of sleep.
Anxious in the spaces between time, I repeatedly realized how young I was and how many things I have screwed up. Yet, more infinites await; the lack of reliance in the Waste Land and its inherent possibilities are two sides of the same coin. Reality isn’t actually terrifying; reality is gorgeous—I just need to stop fantasizing and truly get to know it. I used to think people cared too much about reality, but now it infuriates me how much we ignore it. When you stop chasing the aurora, it comes to visit you on its own accord, right?
This year brought some harvests.
Climax. I finally got to know a certain part of my body, mostly because I received love. A climax is a sensation of clenching and then letting go. The body becomes incredibly serene, like a candle glowing through a linen lampshade, the texture of the skin radiating like light—a beauty exhaled in a sigh.
Honesty. I no longer try to lie to myself, because whatever the outside world uses to disturb me is just the part of myself where I haven’t been honest yet. I still hold endless hitch-hiking, movie-watching, casual banter, and aimless reading as precious. But if I truly want to create something, to fulfil my life’s calling, it demands a fierce sense of conviction, long-term endurance, and truly channeled mental energy. I want to spend my time meaningfully through practice. I want to become coal, trees compressed by vast, prolonged external forces. I want to be a kiwi, vibrant green life churning beneath a yellow skin.
Food. First, I realized I could use food to interrupt the continuous flow of mortality awareness. Then, I realized how profoundly rewarding the act of chopping and cooking is for me. My signature dishes this year include grilled noodle rolls, marinated chicken feet, Fuding pork meatball soup, stir-fried pork with chilli peppers, sauerkraut fish, and shredded lemon chicken. Thank you, animals.
Self-compassion. This is a concept I learned in English, thanks to Jude. On the intended graduation day, I was reborn in her office. She helps me look back periodically, only to find that suspended questions always find their own answers. This year, I secured a stable therapist, gained a lover, and made three new friends. Jasminte taught me that people experience jet lag, that everyone keeps their own clock, and that even our own clocks don’t tick perfectly smoothly. Kem is my mirror; things I leave unspoken are made clear the moment they leave his mouth. From Rudder, I primarily learned work ethic—how to redirect momentum against itself and how to set boundaries. For the new year, I received a notebook specifically for studying them. Let’s give it a try.
Last Friday I watched an Ali Abdaal video and used his scales for a self-assessment, deriving three keywords for my New Year’s resolutions: intentionality, efficiency, and collaboration. Any destiny, no matter how complex or long, is actually reflected in one single moment: the moment we completely wake up to who we truly are and who we want to become. Last year by the sea I thought, How wonderful, everyone here has their own fiery pit to burn in. Nothing remains of that beautiful humour, and I can no longer live cynically. I feel that the squandering of life cannot be alleviated by anything else. Ultimately, all we can rely on is our own creation: the lives we create, relationships we nurture, and works we build with our own hands. Learning to master my brain, to bring me closer to peace, closer to happiness.