It’s already the second day of 2017 for half the world, and it still seems strange. 2017 is the year I never really thought about. I had elaborate plans about it when I was younger, plans of graduating and travelling to another country to be one with the love of my life. That was 2017 for me. But when life shook up in 2015, my fairytale was shattered.
2016 was magic, but magic I can comprehend and make sense of. It was surreal, surreal that I not only survived but flourished through it. I am, infact, very proud of myself. I travelled alone to a foreign country, I made friends across the world, had the courage to let my heart take the leap, and get heartbroken. I started the last year in this god wretched university, deciding on my major. Building Christine a home became my focus for two months, while also somehow surviving through turbulent personal times. We decided to move to France, and here I am, sitting in a bare bedroom with the view of a fort, waiting for snowfall.
I called in 2017 sober (I know, I’m surprised as well) at an ice ring. Far from the Parisian glamour, in this small town, with people I don’t share a language with. I called in 2017 with drunk millenials and tiny toddlers. It was okay, I didn’t expect anything huge. I was content when I got into bed.
Waking up though, it hit me. My magic year is over, and it’s 2017. I don’t know how it will turn out to be like. The first half of it is predictable enough, in comparison. I know I’ll be busy, with university and with a boi. I will be heartbroken, moving to France for months, and hopefully go to Disneyland Paris (still need to convince dad, fingers crossed). I don’t know what comes after. What am I going to do on my 21st birthday? How am I supposed to spend it in France, when I know about 4 words in French? Will I be in India, away from my family, getting drunk? How about my dream, my absolute dream to travel to Zambia and other countries for a while? And heavens, who will keep me company in this beautiful town? I might need to track down that girl I met yesterday, who spoke broken English. I might need to turn into a stalker. And Lord, save me from the French boys.
See? My mind is a general mess, and I am scared. There, I said it. I am scared for the year I have entered, a full 364 days to live through. I am worried it would break me in ways I can’t handle. I learned to have faith in myself last year, but 2017 might just test that.
Take a deep breath, V. I can’t help but look at the literal winter wonderland outside my room, and be calmed. It’s quiet, beautiful. I’ll survive this place, it’ll be okay. I’ll make it through this year. Hell, I’ll slay through this year, better than 2016. I’ll find a way to travel and to meet people all over again. I’ll decide on a university for postgraduation. I’ll deal with the heartbreak and fall for the French accent in another guy. I’ll sky dive, or I’ll take up swimming more often.
Writing feels good. Coming back here after a month long break feels like…home. As much as this post is a mess, it’s personal. It’s my train of thoughts, raw and uncensored (well, just with a lot less profanities used)
For all you beautiful dolls out there, happy new year. I am thrilled you’re reading this. If you made it through this post, here’s a virtual hug. Thank you for being here, and I hope I get to know you more this year. We’ll make it through together, and hopefully Trump is…taken care of. Much love.