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| Photo by the Author |
And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention. I haven't met the new me yet - Taylor Swift, happiness
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock, it reads at 11:56 pm. A cold night for the last day of 2022, tick-tock, tick-tock, goes the clock.
In a few more minutes the ticking will be replaced; the loud cheers and whoops of the people outside, the clashing cymbals and roaring trumpets, the revving motorcycles and beeping cars, and then the ear-deafening explosions of fireworks in the midnight sky一in a few more minutes, everyone will be welcoming the new year with all the celebratory noises fit for a rebirth.
She doesn’t really see the appeal in that, doesn’t really feel the energy to do the same, so she traps herself in her room. In her pristine room, she’d deep-cleaned it hours ago with her mother’s hopes of greeting the new year without all that clutter, the party is muffled to an extent of pretend obliviousness. Inside, where the lights are dimmed low and there’s nothing but somber music playing, she finds herself alone.
She traps herself in her room. Or maybe traps herself isn’t the right term; she burrows, burrows into herself in her room, trying to find some form of comfort in her solace, growing more nervous as each second continues to pass by.
It’s the start of a new year, but what does that mean for her, really? Resolutions and manifestations for a better you, a better boo, a better life, on paper to be actualized by the stroke of midnight? She could try to make that work, but has it ever really worked in any of the previous years she did it? Barely could she remember a year where she hadn’t dropped her resolutions by mid-January, and never had those overly-motivational year plans and year vision boards ever really come to fruition.
And since everyone’s just raving at how they’re planning to conquer the new year with all their dreams and life aspirations, she’s now grappling with the pressure to make the next year her best one yet! Again. Now, in the midst of their celebrations, she doesn’t know if she’s being a lousy party killer or if it’s simply just not her style.
She tries to remember what she achieved this year (it’s not much, she thinks), and when that doesn’t encourage her to make more goalposts for the sparkling new year, she tries to remember everything that she’d overcome in the year before (because maybe, that will give her the spirit to face the new year head-on). All those little heartbreaks, those little disappointments, the what-ifs plaguing her mind, and soon enough, she’s back to square one; dreading the approaching year as it gives her the promises of more (more of what? more of the same heartbreaks, same disappointments, and unfulfilled what-ifs?).
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock. Tick-tock, it reads at 11:58 pm. Soon, it’ll be time to say goodbye to a year lived and say hello to a new one to be lived. Tick-tock, tick-tock, goes the clock.
The party continues to go muffled, and in the quiet, she thinks that maybe, maybe she doesn’t have to celebrate it the way most people plan on doing. Maybe she can greet the new year with only the somber (yet soft) music playing in her room, with nothing threatening to burst her eardrums out.
Maybe she doesn’t have to present a vision board for how she wants the new year to go for her by the second, and maybe she can just simply continue to live as she’s been living this entire time一slowly, but surely, getting to where she’s supposed to be.
Maybe the best way for her to enter the new year is in whatever space of comfort she has, her state of mind in peace and herself currently at peace with her identity, and in acceptance of the movement of time. Maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t have to stress herself into suddenly living a life of outstanding excellence by anyone’s suggested standards.
Tick-tock, she barely sees the clock read 11:59 pm before it flashes and glows at 12:00 am, and still, in the muffled background, the party reaches its climax as the people scream Happy New Year! Everything, everywhere, all at once, the welcome of the new year rears its head through the noises of sparkling colors and life, and still, she’s content to remain in her room.
In her room, where the light is dim, the sheets soft, the air sweet, and the pillows cold, she lets out a breath of realized relief and smiles a little to herself.
Happy new year, indeed.
