“Six. It’s okay, we never finish them anyway,” she chuckled.
New Year’s this year will come with no preparation. I haven’t whipped up resolutions or taken up my usual cycle of gratefulness– there are no letters, messages in the inboxes of my friends. I woke up this afternoon with all the lights in the house turned off, the gentle pitter patter of rain outside gradually getting louder. I’ve had a fever for the past three days, I’m still looking for the good to come out of it– it’s what I’ve been trying to do with most things.
The clock read nine when I wandered into the kitchen. My mom was single-handedly preparing our New Year’s dinner. Beyond dinners, I always admired how she tries at what she does. I never tell her, but I don’t think she gives herself enough credit for it all. She lets me work in quality assurance. I transfer grapes from the supermarket pack to a Tupperware, sorting out those that have gone bad. This can be my New Year’s ceremony, I thought. May all the bad grapes of my 2018 be flung to the garbage can where they belong. May I learn from the bad grapes.
When I was thirteen, I wrote about how the year prior had been eye-opening, amazing, and terrifying. Now that I think about it, if your year hasn’t been any of the three at any given point, you must try harder. I’ve been spending the past few bedridden days thinking of how I can properly conclude my year, how I can best articulate the whirlwind that it has been. I’ve made blog posts enumerating the things I valued, the things I’ve learned. I’ve made a video of warm, fond memories. I found my answer at the bottom of my 6th (or 7th or 8th) glass of Berocca: maybe I don’t have to.
Unlike all my other New Years, I feel less of a need to justify how good my year was through summation. This time around, maybe the fact my year even was will do. I’m sure I won’t be able to do away with my impending urge to write letters to all the people that made it matter, and maybe I’ll find some time to scramble for a pen and paper to jot down resolutions I know I won’t keep. Knowing me, the familiarity will keep me grounded at the very least.
The shift to the New Year feels less drastic this time– it feels more like a soft exhale, with explosions care of raindrops. For now, I’m going to switch on all the lights in the house and say a little prayer for the downpour to become gentle– to make way for a little light in the sky.
