Jan 26, 2022
I only want to start my new year doing what I love. I will begin it by writing, first for myself and then for anyone who wants to read my words. I will not think much about the order of my words or my thoughts, because I do want my lines to be just a reflection of the chaos of my feelings and my reality.
I admit that I am thankful to God for putting behind me a sad year that was an extension of isolation and a constant search for stability that I had lost for years. But who says reality is separated by the start of a new year? Does nature care about the divisions the human beings made of different spots of time? Does our transition from year to year really mean our separation from a year with its circumstances, its sadness, its joy, and its pain? Or do we do that as an attempt of hope that we have not found in reality. Yes, that is the case. When I heard that the astrological predictions prophesied much positivity for those born under my sign, I resisted all my feelings of frustration and loneliness, picked up my pen and wrote.
I have made many attempts to do what I love, or rather what I enjoy, as writing is as water and air to me, and perhaps my soul has been much tortured by ignoring what I love. Writing gives me an incredible capacity for self-talk, self-knowledge, and perhaps even challenge. Writing also gives me an indescribable sense of happiness. It makes me feel like I am breathing and that I have a word in this chaotic world, amidst these fake crowds, amidst hypocritical and also honest words.
I will promise myself this time to never let my pen out of my hand, and perhaps I will promise myself to do so in front of people, because I am one of those people who is least true to their promises to themselves and most true to their promises in front of people. This is not out of hypocrisy, but in search of a motive killed by pain and stupid bureaucracy, followed by people claiming modernity and democracy. These are the words of a desperate woman who wants to begin her new year with hope.