2020

Hey blog. It's been a while.

I've been bad, even by my steadily deteriorating standards over the last few years. Not a post all year, in a year where I had resolved to write more and to reinstate the favourites' lists, and to top it all off, not even a New Year introspection post? Shame on me.

To briefly recap the last year, I failed miserably at both writing more (or at all, except a few stray emo notes here and there) and at keeping track of happy things - as a consequence of which, I have no memory whatsoever of how I felt or what I experienced in 2019.

I was better at running / working out, though, particularly in large stretches where I automatically felt the urge to go up to the gym or down to the court / pool when I woke up in the morning. I know people usually have inch / kilo related fitness goals, but honestly? That's mine. Working out without needing to talk myself into it.

I also travelled and made active attempts to socialise with people, so I basically did well at everything except The Most Important Resolution, Namely, Writing. Great priorities as always, Sam.

For the coming year - well, what do I want in the coming year?

I still want to write more, but perhaps without putting a number on it this time. Timesheets at work are bad enough, perhaps I can live without numerical targets in my personal life.

I want to read more, as always.

I want to shop less, do a repeat of no-clothes-2018 (no buying clothes, you pervert) and add to it by refraining from buying anything superfluous. This will be hard, but let's see how it goes.

I also want to, for a change, plan...less. The mental and physical health consequences of stress and being extra-Type-A was something that characterized a lot of the latter half of 2019 for me, and it's made me want to try a life where I don't anally try to sort everything into clear, categorized boxes. I considered conducting a survey of popular stress-relieving activities, downloading the right meditation apps and creating a timetable of relaxing activities for myself - and then I looked at myself and realized, maybe we should just...roll back and try to live a little. The next five steps don't always have to be planned and back-up-planned, right? (Right?!)

And, in the spirit of planning less, that's it. That's what I want to do in 2020. Read, write, not buy shit I don't need, and breathe. Do I not also want to...Learn the guitar? Lose weight? Learn a new language? Fall in love? Quit my job?

We'll see. No pressure.

Love,
~Sam 

Who decided it was a good idea to start the new year hungover?

Hi, you. It's been a while.

There are a lot of posts I meant to write over the past year, but for the first time, I didn't have the words for anything that was truly important. 

In the beginning, I wanted to write about how tired I was, how overwhelmed, how there was too much, far too much, too fast, that I couldn't handle it. The leaving, the end of college with the best term ever, a three-month high that has ruined me for the rest of life. In a way, I'm glad I pulled a Rachel, that I didn't realize that it was actually happening until it had already happened - I have all the time in the world to miss it and mope, now. I'm glad I just focused on living it, then. 

Then I didn't want to write, because there was so much that my brain was pushed into some kind of stasis, just floating around doing what needed to be done, without really processing any of it. Pack up five years of college while cramming every memory, every experience into a few weeks? Okay. Write thousands of coherent words analysing complex legal principles on little sleep and even lesser time? Sure. Pack again to prepare for five months abroad with none of your closest friends, and weather you've never experienced before? Cool. Navigate family, friends, finances and the feeling of being pulled apart into each individual atom that makes up your whole? No problem.

Then, I was just grateful. My brain was still in shock, but it was a good kind of shock. The packing, the papers, the pulling apart, it was all over, and it was so cold that I really couldn't feel anything but wonder. I was bundled up and heading out for a bite to eat, and there was a building with a window, across the street, and through it, the glimpse of an old couple learning to dance. There had been so much bullshit, logistical and emotional, in the months leading up to Zurich, that I had forgotten what I had been fighting so hard for. That moment, standing there, in my gloves and my boots, my beanie and my scarf, watching them learn to twirl - I remembered. And I wanted to write again, but how in the world could I find the words to capture that?

And then I was in a daze, whirling about locations that had seemed unreal in books, let alone all around me. If I had a lifetime, I still don't think I'd able to absorb those four months and twenty days, and if I had written then, it would just be a list of names of places, woven with a sense of gratitude too powerful for paper.

Then it was June 20, and it was my Mali getting married, the geeky airhead who flunked Computers and then aced it, equal parts Meg Cabot and civil engineering. I had my babes on one side and beaches on the other,   and the words just got lost somewhere between the makeup and the high drama.

Things kind of dipped downhill then for a bit, like the world had stalled all awfulness for the first six months but just couldn't hold it anymore. The floodgates opened, and I was drowning. I don't do well with new situations, and this was a hell of a lot of new - a new job and a new city and a new house and new people - a new phase of life, forcing itself on me when I wasn't quite done clinging to the old one. The words I wrote then weren't blogposts, but lifelines to myself, words of survival, harsh and secret and unpoetic.

The last few months of 2017 were also spent in a daze, though if my time in Zurich was so fairytale that I couldn't wrap my head around how it was actually real, Mumbai was so real that I feared I'd forget to dream.

And then it was over.

A part of me wishes I could break 2017 up into teeny tiny pieces, and live a part of it each year for the rest of my life. It seems to be the only way to fully appreciate a year in which there was just too much, good and bad, but almost never simply unremarkable. But time, haughty bitch, listens to no emo millennials - she flows and flows and flows, and I suppose I'll just have to try to keep up.

Which leads me to one of my three resolutions for this year - to reinstate the favourites lists. If there was ever an anchor in my life, it was that monthly reflection of good things, and if there is ever a time I've needed an anchor, it is now.

The other two resolutions are more mundane, though far more ambitious - buy no clothes, and drink not more than once a month, in any quantity.

Ambitious as they are for someone like me, I hope these resolutions will cumulatively lead to a quieter, sparser, more contemplative 2018, to a year where I can absorb where I am and what I have, determine what I want and where I want to go.

At the very least, I hope they'll lead to a bigger bank balance and a healthier liver.

Have a happy new year, you guys.

~Sam

All Tangled Up

Nothing makes sense. 

I used to be able to be calm. To set things aside for a few moments every morning, bow before the little statuettes inside my cupboard, and breathe in the name of praying. Set aside everything to be thankful, or ask for a little bit more, or, usually, both. When I took stock of my life, I found satisfaction in the inventory. I found desire for what I wanted to have, and I found gratitude for what I had. 

When I try to take stock now, I find noise. I try to set everything aside and pray, but the everything pushes back, tells me that the Converse sign on my high-tops has worn off, that the gas cylinder has lasted for a surprisingly long time, that I need to talk to a friend, not fuck up at work, save more, instruct the maid to switch off the lights before she leaves, find time to work out, do this, and this, and this, and this. When I try to think of what I want, I find a blank chit. Even “world peace” doesn’t come readily to mind. I have everything I could need, and want none of it.

I used to be able to make most things fun. When I had to study, I’d sit in a café, look at the people around and talk to my friends, pass or ace my exams and sleep well at night. When I had to pack or clean, I’d put on a playlist and chat with my roommate, find fulfilment in the simple movements putting my life together. When I had nothing to do, I’d switch off all the lights and wander around in the dark, listening to music and spinning stories in my head, of a singer and a princess, love and heartbreak, family and friendship. When I wanted to think, I’d take a walk, and the thoughts would flow readily, gently, kindly. I had grown accustomed to being kind to myself, accustomed to a mental state that allowed me to be happy with who I was and where I was.

Now, I try to listen to music while I work or shower – I don’t have to clean much anymore – and it’s a task to figure out what I want to listen to. I try to sit in a Starbucks and work, and the scent of my coffee fails to untangle my wound-up heart. I walk to work and I look at the trees and the pond and feel the breeze stirring my hair, and wonder how fat I look today. I think about talking to my friends and my family, and it feels like a chore. I switch off the lights and try to listen to music and spin stories, and I hate what I find inside my head.

In January, I considered myself an intrinsically happy person. I was the optimist of any group I was in.

In March, I was flat on my back in a mountain in Iceland, watching the Northern Lights, and filled with an ethereal light of my own.

In December, I am in an office cubicle, putting up my best friend’s doodle and wondering what I’m doing there.

It’s almost the new year, and for the first time in years, I have nothing to say about it.

~Sam 

A New Year

Hello, non-existent readers. Today I will be blogging about everything I want to say. Before I begin, I just want  to say that I personally think that New Year resolutions are overrated. But I feel like I'm at a point in my life where I need to start taking charge of my life. I keep complaining that I need to get my life together. I say that I refuse to live a mediocre life. I can't just sit there and whine. It will not be handed to me. I have never been lucky. I believe I never will (to all of you who have been favored in this aspect, I say to you-Lucky Bastards). So in order to start getting things together I have compiled a list of.....stuff.

-First of all, a big 'YES' to everything Sam said about New Years resolutions. No more thinking that I'm not good enough, or skinny enough or pretty enough. More confidence. Hell, I should be. I can do a lot of things. I will not be placed under the norms of vanity. I am my own person. I have my own style. I will not think twice about what I want to do. I will wear make up if I want. I will keep my nails neat and manicured if I want. I will eat 6 slices of pizza if I want. I will make efforts to look good if I want. I will play video games for hours straight if I want. I will listen to whichever music I feel like. I will to go college with bedhead. I will have days where I don't give a fuck. I will do everything; and I will do nothing.

-I told myself that I will try harder this year. I will try not to slack off. That is not going very well. Being lazy comes so naturally to me; I can't help it, but I shall try.

-This one has been my goal for the past three years; exercising. I've come around to it during September of 2013. I kind of slacked off in November. All I did in December was eat(IT WAS HOLIDAY SEASON IN MY DEFENSE). I should really continue working out this month.

So that's it for this year. I guess. I'm not really good at planning but you gotta start somewhere right?

This is Malko saying maytheforcebewithyou