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| quiet, misty, sunrise at the park |
Another year has quietly slipped away, and before we could even process it, we’re already welcoming 2026. I hope you had a meaningful holiday season, whether that meant celebrating loudly with family and friends, traveling somewhere new, or simply finding rest in stillness. However you spent it, I hope it felt right for you. I also wish you a grounded, healthy, and gentle year ahead, one that meets you where you are, not where you think you should be.
The final two weeks of December 2025 were anything but restful for me. They were intense, exhausting, and mentally demanding. I was preparing for back-to-back university examinations, with the pressure of securing at least a 50% passing grade looming over my head. Anyone who has been through university knows that even aiming for the “minimum” can feel overwhelming when deadlines pile up and time runs out. On top of that, just three days after submitting my essay, I had my practical driving test. No breathing room. No proper pause. Just one responsibility after another.
The results were bittersweet. I passed my essay with a respectable 75%, and I was genuinely proud of myself for that. It felt like a small but meaningful victory, proof that the effort wasn’t wasted. Unfortunately, I failed my practical driving test. That part hurt. Not only emotionally, but financially as well, considering the amount of sterling I had already spent preparing for it. At first, I felt terrible. Frustrated. Discouraged. It sucked! plain and simple.
But then I reminded myself of something we often forget: you can’t have it all at once. Sometimes life gives you balance by taking something away just as it gives you something else. As cliché as it sounds, maybe it simply wasn’t meant for me yet.
There’s an understated beauty in failure, not just in this driving test, but in every test I’ve failed throughout my life. Failure gives you stories. It humbles you. It teaches you patience and resilience. You often learn more from falling short than from immediate success, although let’s be honest, success is far more comfortable. Still, growth rarely comes from comfort. I’ll be booking my second driving test soon, and I’m hopeful that 2026 will be the year I finally earn that license.
Now, let me ask you - how did you welcome the New Year? Did you go somewhere special? Did you celebrate with a crowd, attend a party, travel, or simply stay home? What was the most exciting part of your celebration, or perhaps the most peaceful moment?
As for me, I did nothing special. I was tired from work, both physically and mentally, so I chose rest. I stayed awake until midnight, waited for the fireworks to stop (about 10–15 minutes of noise), sent messages to my family back home, checked in with close friends and relatives, and had a video call with my partner. After that, I went to sleep. That was my New Year’s celebration—quiet, simple, and honest.
Was I sad? Was I lonely? The answer is no. I think I’ve mastered the art of being alone without feeling lonely. There’s a difference between solitude and isolation, and over time, I’ve learned to appreciate the former. Being alone doesn’t automatically mean being unhappy.
Do I miss celebrating with my family and loved ones? Yes and no. I miss the simple gatherings: shared meals, genuine laughter, and quiet moments of togetherness. I don’t necessarily miss the grand, extravagant parties - the kind where the whole clan is invited, everyone drinks too much, and the noise outweighs the meaning. I’ve learned that intimacy matters more to me than spectacle.
And did I miss out on half of my life by not celebrating the New Year “properly”? Absolutely not. When I was a child, I believed the New Year had to be honored every single year - as a grand reset, a fresh beginning, a promise of a new life and new blessings. But adulthood slowly reshaped that belief. Now, the New Year feels like another 365 days - to work and pay bills, to survive and sometimes thrive, to rest when we’re knackered, to keep going even when we’re tired, and to simply exist as human beings.
Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful. I acknowledge the blessings, the growth, and the positive things that came my way in 2025. But I don’t feel the pressure to reinvent myself just because the calendar changed. I don’t believe in the “new year, new me” narrative anymore.
There’s no dramatic transformation waiting for me in 2026. I’ll still be the same person - introverted, occasionally tedious, sometimes tired, sometimes hopeful. I don’t have resolutions written in a notebook or grand plans mapped out in detail. Instead, I’ll continue doing what I did in 2025 - just a little better. A little wiser. A little more intentional. I’ll sparkle quietly and level up subtly.
So yes, this blog might sound negative at first glance. It might carry a darker, more contemplative tone. But maybe it isn’t negativity, maybe it’s honesty. Maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe it’s choosing realism over forced optimism.
Now I’ll leave you with this: do you believe every New Year requires reinvention, or are you simply choosing to grow slowly, steadily, and in your own time?
