It was hours before that iconic New Years Eve countdown and what was I attempting? Faintly tracing out impossible desires and dreams for the coming New Year.
Not those absurd and ridiculous resolutions. The kind one is never able to sensibly maintain, like weight loss or the promise to pry oneself away from social media. But a penning of sorts, for what I yearned to manifest in 2019. It is the kind of daydreams which carry me to faraway lands; like Havana or Petra for example. And those that see me finally having a place to call home. Seemingly the same kind of daydreams which manifest themselves as mere wishful thinking and perpetual reveries from years before.
The very ones which realistically never come to pass.
While others gleefully proclaim their resolutions and hopes, I sat there trembling in fear and trepidation. That all humbling uncertainty of the unknown; the anguish that perhaps I’ll be forced to endure yet another stagnant and unimpressive year of pure survival.
2018 was mentally exhausting. It was laden with ambiguity and unease. And like a magpie, I spent the year frivolously collecting material items. Much to my financial detriment. The kind which placed me in unnecessary financial predicaments, seeing me continuously seeking out “payday” type loans. There were incredible and unforgettable highs. Like traveling solo to the motherland and making an unexpected but lasting impressions and connections with family; especially my grandfather. The kind I never once envisioned being fortunate to experience due to a language barrier and the inexplicable need to suppress myself. Travels which also saw me visiting a new European country and making kindred friendships with new people.
But the negatives utterly decimated those positives.
Such travels where incredibly taxing. Traveling without company placed in many confrontational situations, the worst being bullied on a flight by a couple adamant I switched my phone off completely during the journey. I became ill during my travels after hearing the most dreadful news; that my trusty sidekick was not well and needed surgery. And all while I was halfway across the globe. To find myself on the other side of the planet, without any means of financial assistance, considering I had just taken out another loan to make this trip a reality. I become ill from the extreme anxiety which I desperately attempted to keep hidden away, and couldn’t, as such actions manifested into another mental breakdown. All on foreign soil and all without consolation. I don’t think I had ever felt as alone as I did on the day I learnt of such news. A feeling made worse by the prospect that I could not be there for my sidekick and possibly lose the only friend I have.
2018 was also perplexing when it came to deciphering obscuring individuals. A person who continuously made his intentions clear while alluding to the fact that he had a child. But not until recently. I spent most of the year daydreaming away a possible future with him. Collecting sartorial pieces to wear out on future dates and envisioning finally having someone to embrace when the clock struck twelve on New Years Eve.
Worst of all was my unimpressive living situation; one I contented with terribly this year over the shame and discomfort I felt for still living with my parents. A feeling which undeniably controlled me and saw me further withdrawing from society. Relentless and unforgiving, a mortification which I desperately attempt to disguise, yet one which ruthlessly is brought up in conversation time and time again.
So for 2019, I still hold tight to such whimsical and fantastical reveries, for what is life without such winsomeness. Realistically I make only one resolution for the year ahead. And that is to simply write more. Something which I refrained from doing out of weariness, yet something which brings such fulfilment and joy.
Seemingly a joy which through such trials and tribulations, had been abandoned.
