This is a new year post in the middle of January. This post will look back on what the year 2014 was… at least for me. I don’t know you. 2014 was met with astonishing optimism, optimism so optimistic that you might as well call it stupidity. Optimism so strong, that 1000 Holocausts can’t even faze it. Optimism so forceful… that it was destroyed before it can even get rolling. Love life, academics, work ethic, financial capability, these were all things what were going to trend up for sure. But by the end of the first round of twelve, one of those got hit by a haymaker, never to get up.
My heart was broken… along with my ego and my confidence. I drowned myself in Bon Iver songs and the sight of ceilings. I blazed through comedies, hoping to get a laugh to sub in for my overplayed sadness. I cried harder than I have in a long while, once in the bathroom and another after watching the movie Her (a week after my birthday). The thing that baffles me about this is how we, as an entire population, is so obsessed and hung up over our “hearts”. The crushing of my heart practically paralyzed m. I pushed people away, I drank a lot more, I ate a lot more and now my guts (literally and figuratively) hate me for it, and I didn’t want to do anything but lie down and bask in my sadness for weeks, nay, months. Why is this “heart” so important to us? My limbs were fine, my brain works as well as it ever has (at 0%) but somehow that figurative destruction of the engine of our body calls for us to want it to stop pumping blood altogether.
I said I was going to work.. for money. You know, a “job” they like to call it. Then I chickened out. This “work” is gonna get in the way of all the nothing I do all day. How can I finish season 5 of 30 Rock when I’m busy teaching English to some Japanese people? How can I sleep at 6 am and wake up at 3 pm to eat 3 meals a day if I had to simplify what the word “festival” means? Who’s gonna jerk off my dick when my hands are too busy typing the definition of several that I copied and pasted from Google? FUCK THIS SHIT. So I didn’t. I didn’t work. The promise I told myself that I’d pay for my next semester went to shit/ I ate and slept and consumed electricity from the house that my parents are paying for. Months passed with me not getting any nearer to graduating.
I said I was going back to school. Then the universe blocked that thought and gave me the Dikembe Mutombo finga wag. It’s typical of me to blame the universe but 90% of the time when someone says the universe didn’t let them do something, it was just them being a lazy bitch I didn’t go because I couldn’t go because I was late (again) in trying to get in the university. So months went by again with me staying still. This is who I am now.
Then I was asked to play basketball. The sport I have always loved. Not professionally mind you. Let’s just say it’s a league where bragging rights are what’s at stake and those bragging rights are forever. So I got back in shape, I got a little bit of money and I started feeling good about myself again. We started winning and now I know the taste of it again, and I wanted more of it again. Since I have money now, I got out more. I went to dinners with my friends, went to parties with new people and went to a trip with my family. I learned that maybe I can love again but more importantly, I learned to smile and enjoy life again.
The thing is, in the middle of the year, I felt like nothing. I contributed nothing to society or my family, I wasn’t particularly a hoot with my friends. I wasn’t suicidal or anything, but I thought, logically, since I just took from those around me, it would be better if I died.
But I didn’t. I didn’t die. I would wake up everyday and I would continue to breathe. Everyday. Then the basketball thing happened. Someone showed up on my door and said “Take my hand, let’s get up.”.
What’s nice is that our hearts, our bodies, our souls, our wills, our personalities, our resolve isn’t made of glass or porcelain like some tumblr blogs would lead you to believe. They are made up of cells, and tissues, and our very own DNA. Our self- fixing, adaptive, evolving DNA. Which means that whenever we are scratched, scathed, cracked, punctured, crushed, slashed, bruised or broken, we are always repaired in time, stronger and better than before.
So 2015, I’m here. Don’t kill me. Motherfucker.