Maybe this comes with the year ending. But, lately, I’ve been feeling somewhat reflective about the year, my life, myself.
It has been a long year, for everyone else I assume too. But as the year is ending, I am filled with strange hope and easiness. I don’t know how that happened. Maybe coming home did the trick of reminding me of the parts of myself I had forgotten.
All year, It had felt like I was thrown into a boxing ring and told to fight for my life. So, I did just that, in between, the salty cheeks, screams, and lethargy. I had spent most of the year fighting for something and everything, turning myself inside out in horrid ways, just to smile and say that I did it in the end.
There’s love at home
This year I moved around mad.
I had all this love that I didn’t know what to do with or where to put it. So, I ran around in circles and bounced off walls, looking for something or someone while forgetting that this love was mine to keep too.
Just an hour of being back home I realized that I didn’t need to sprint around like a headless chicken anymore, I didn’t need the validation, I didn’t need to be seen if I hadn’t seen myself first. That I am home too and my love is safe here. Why have I been running away from something so familiar, what was I scared of?
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Being home for the holidays has been a joy. It feels like I have come out of a year-long depressive episode and the air smells fresh again, the kind you experience after the first rains pour down. I feel very hopeful and I am finding bits and pieces of me again.
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My mom is one of the funniest women I know (believe the hype, women are truly funny), she cracks us up every time with her stories of seemingly insignificant things like how she bought a bag of rice, to important ones like how I was born.
I think I learned most of my courage from my mom because I sometimes wonder how she held it all up through the years while my dad was gone. Losing a partner is one of my top fears but today is not for that story. Instead, I want to write about how each conversation with my family filled me up with love, each laugh familiar, each story retold again like it was the first time, each boundary crossed again, and each Capri-Sonne tucked away in the fridge gone missing when you woke up the next day.
Still, I’d relive every experience if I could.
A lesson in finding joy in small things
Being home sparked joy for me in a couple of ways. It was a lesson in finding joy in myself first before anything or anyone else. They say happiness is your responsibility but I didn’t fully grasp this until now. I have carried around this cloak of sadness in 2023 and merely existed and survived. Now, I have decided that I want to thrive and live, and doing this means finding joy in the littlest of things. Putting my phone on DND, reading a book, learning a new hobby, being off socials, not overthinking simple-minded situations, or walking.
Taking evening walks is a favourite pastime of mine. I consistently did over 10K steps during the holidays, partly because it is easier to walk in Aba, my neighbourhood streets are cleaner and quieter, more pedestrian-friendly, and the sights are a pleasure to the eyes. Also, I was worried about all the holiday weight because the previous year, family and strangers gnawed at my body, with the “Ooh, you have added weight, I bu chala ibu,”. The comments are different this year, they are saying that I have lost some weight and look different.
Comments about your body are always intrusive like they are physically poking into you, like they know you better than the person you see in the mirror. Sometimes, they help spur you into taking actions, good or bad, other times they make you see what you have chosen not to see, or they simply discredit all your hard work. Either way, listen to the one that matters; your inside voice. Na you know how e dey do you.
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Who do you see when no one is watching?
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With the fucking weight loss madness, my relationship with food is now subpar. And boy, the many joys you can find in food. One thing being home rekindled is my love for good food, I missed my mom’s cooking, and I missed authentic Igbo meals. On one of those days when I walked about 10k steps at the market, my sister and I splurged on all the Igbo snacks we could find; abacha, agidi, asusu (corn meal) and vegetable sauce, asu oka (corn cake), mpataka (tapioca). It was great to eat everything I missed and loved but I paid for it the next day with indigestion and a dull stomach ache. I know, it’s always something with this body.
End credits
By the time you get this, we are already a week into the new year. This was supposed to be a sort of year-in-review post, but who are we kidding? It turned out to be some kind of reflection of this year (read 2023) and a mini New Year resolutions post.
I remember speaking to a friend, about how I felt that nobody was there for me this year when they mentioned how I was a big part of their year - something I am deeply grateful that I could be for someone through my shitstorm. But maybe, I am doing that thing where I don’t recognise the small, beautiful moments, because, to be honest, my friends and family held me up in multiple ways, more than I could see.
For 2024, I am very hopeful about the year. I am also positive that it would turn out great and I’m ready for the ride. More importantly, I’m going to stay gracious and joyful about it, so next time you ask me, “What sparks joy for you?” I’d say, “me” and mean it.
Before I send you out on your way, here’s this playlist I made and hoarded throughout 2023. I hope you give it a listen and have a fantastic year!
Writer’s note
A few months ago, I wrote this piece, one of my most vulnerable ones here. I didn’t know what to expect from me pontificating on the internet about how sad and lonely I felt, I was done pretending and threw caution to the wind. The comments I got on this post meant so much and still mean a lot to me. I still go back to read it and let it envelop me like a warm hug on a chilly day.
Thank you so much to everyone who read it, shared, commented, and even called me. I appreciate it and I don’t take your kindness for granted. You made whatever I felt worth feeling. Thank you :)