The first half of twenty-five was one of the best periods of my life.
The second half, however, was not.
These past few months have been difficult, but necessary. It’s strange to think of a world where things weren’t this complicated, where I missed people differently and every single person I know didn’t seem so indefinitely out of reach for me. It’s hard to imagine a time when I didn’t work this hard to convince my loved ones that I still exist.
I took photos of myself in a makeshift sari the other night, and composed some poetry in my head while I did so. I think this was my way of compensating for how much I wish I could hug my parents, and the way I miss the grandparents I did know, as well as the one I didn’t.
I’ve spent these final weeks of twenty-five writing, drinking red wine, struggling to remember my purpose, barely getting out of bed in the morning, and wondering why I’m evolving behind closed doors all by myself. I already had my quarter-life crisis a few years ahead of schedule, so that makes being frozen in space and time even more frustrating.
It’s lonely here, but my curves look great, my hair looks great. I’m learning what it might feel like to be sexy for once instead simply being the friend who guards the purses all night, listens to guys vent about how they need my help impressing my friends, and lives inside my own head. Who knew it would take a quarantine for me to evolve into more than just my poetry, brain power, mixed martial art capabilities, and muscle content?
The world is falling apart outside, and figuring out what to eat for dinner is getting difficult again. Twenty-five was a strange year for sure; I moved to my dream city, made friends, learned so much at art school that I can’t even remember who I was before it, and achieved some decent success in my career, but I also lost loved ones and the part of me that possibly had a chance at feeling young again. Worst of all, I lost time and got robbed of opportunities I’ll never be able to replicate or redo for the rest of my life.
Maybe twenty-six will be better than the second half of twenty-five. Maybe it won’t. Regardless, at least I’ll be moving forward in one way or another.
And, on that note…
Farewell to twenty-five, and cheers to twenty-six! I’m coming for you, whether I’m ready or not.