of 2022

I am somewhat tired of writing reviews. Reviews force some sort of introspection. One that I don’t seem to be quite ready. This might be attached to the fact that a lot of the things that I would review as the new year comes on are still quite unfinished, but I suppose that’s what it is when you live in a country that has no regard for you or your time.

I struggled with writing this because the end of 2022 did not feel final. So much started in the culminating months that were not quite concluded yet, so the conclusive-esque tone that an “end of year” review is meant to carry isn’t quite here.

And it’s interesting that a year can be an unfinished thing too. An important reminder, I think, of how illusionary time can sometimes be. Of how cycles don’t need to be obeyed and that we can always break out. We can create a tangent, or become it.

In 2022 I had an emotional breakdown. It was random and unexpected and taught me a few things about myself. Firstly, that somewhere in my subconscious, I’m always grieving. It’s frightening how much a loss can scar a person, in theory, but discovering fresh scars over a decade later is unsettling and terrifying.

I’ve always thought that healing is never linear, especially when the wounds are emotional. But in 2022 I learnt that the scars might never go away, and you must always remember. Remember that there’s grief lurking beneath the surface that can be triggered by another loss. Remember not to take permanent decisions on temporary feelings. Remember not to make your entire life about grief because then, how can you live?

In 2022, I had to remind myself that the people I love are not perfect. And I’m not perfect either. And perhaps, that’s the best thing about being human because being perfect leaves no room to grow. A perfect thing does not need to evolve. But love requires us to evolve. I did and still am. I’m grateful for that.

I discovered new ways in which I needed to grow, and it wasn’t fun. Quite the irony, considering how much of a champion of personal growth I am. But I learnt that I might be hurting the people I cared about because I was leaning into unhealthy patterns. In 2022, I psychoanalysed myself a lot. This was probably not a very healthy thing to do. I might need actual therapy.

I have a penchant for biting more than I can chew, and 2022 was a mouthful.

Ultimately, some of the best things happened when I least expected, and I think that’s life’s ego. It happens when it wants to. We often think of life as a good-natured mother. I believe life is a narcissistic goddess. And if you know anything about praying to deities, it’s that the answer is usually more about them than it is about you. 

There’s such a deep contrast between where I am now, and where I thought I would be at the beginning of 2022. The difference is so great, it only helps to buttress my need for little faith in any sort of planning for the year. Granted, it’s crucial to have a direction, but there’s still so much room for change that’s necessary and important too.

I think my major lesson for the year 2022 was that life happens. This should seem pretty obvious given how long I’ve been alive, but here I am. Life happens, over and over, and not only must you let it, but you’ll also have very little say in that and so all you can do is be prepared.

I made a list of all the things I’m most grateful for, and all of the best things were quite unexpected. The most I could do in any way of preparation was to move with the tide when it arrived. And in this way, I hope to never change. To always stay flexible enough that when life comes, I can ride with its tide.

To end this, I’ll share one of the many intros I wrote for this, before going with what this review started with;

Dec 31st, 2022 – As I write this, I’m lying alone in the studio apartment I got after deciding I wanted to try living alone for the first time. Frank Ocean’s Apple Music exclusive visual album, Endless, is playing in the background. It’s past 3 in the morning and I submitted a draft of my undergraduate thesis yesterday. It’s the first time in at least 3 months that I have nothing to do. I feel sated.

I’m a bit strung up by the fact that I do not have a deep metaphor to start this off with. Perhaps that in itself is the metaphor?