I’d never expected 2017 to be an extraordinary year. Strange events have certainly happened, such as meeting someone who my 14-year-old self never thought I’d meet. I often found myself questioning whether my life is indeed just an X-rated anime and if so, whether I’m the headstrong protagonist or the submissive yet loyal sidekick. Throughout this year, I’ve invested in my friendships and felt myself reaping investments in return. I’ve felt so much sadness that I could feel it start to seep out of me. I’ve learned to relish my peaks and learn from my troughs. I’ve changed from someone who found peace in boxed up rooms to someone who silently craves havoc and unpredictability. So, here’s the spiel on 2017.
Despite a series of misadventures and poorly executed events, I found myself being very happy in 2017. As a particularly glum individual with impossibly high standards, this was probably what surprised me the most about this year. Being happy was usually something that I felt after a good grade or a pleasant interaction with someone. It wasn’t the baseline or norm that I lived on, and so it certainly wasn’t the expectation. However, in 2017 things started shifting in a good direction, such that I found myself looking forward to the Tuesdays and the Wednesdays, not just the inevitable doom of the human race and all it’s creations.
Interestingly, 2017 has also been the year where I’ve experienced the highest amount of rejections in my life. Prior to 2017, I’d taken all the calculated steps to ensure that any chance of failure was minimised. I applied to universities I secretly knew I’d get into and I only loved when the numbers added up. Maybe it was a desire to be brave and do something unprecedented in my life, or maybe it was simply poor judgement, but whatever it was, 2017 was the year of failure. I never do anything half arsed, so when I fail, I fail hard. Whilst Theresa May has been battling for her hard Brexit, I’ve been streamlining my way from one hard Rejection to another.
2017 being both the year of happiness and the year of failure seems like a glaring oxymoron. To be honest with you, I don’t really care to fully understand it myself. Trying to understand why I feel this way despite what’s happened would be a deep spiral into a paradoxical chasm. Maybe my happiness can simply be equated to the joy I feel when I listen to Fireflies by Owl City or maybe it’s attributed to the followers of my blog who are somehow still reading it, despite the mindless gunk train you see before you.
2017 also marks 10 years from when I started Year 7; A timid and awkward girl decked out in plaid and navy. I no longer am timid, I no longer am awkward and I sure as hell no longer wear plaid. By becoming more comfortable with myself, I’ve been able to reach out and let myself be reached by the people that matter most to me. So, thank you for those 3:46am conversations full of anguish and acceptance, for the times you made me laugh until my chest felt like it was being squeezed into pulpy orange, and for the Haribo heart healing sessions. This is to all of you whom I’ve met, gotten to know, and reconnected with.
I loved 2017, I hope you loved it too. Happy New Year.