Already 3 weeks into the year — 49 more to go. Time has started moving again, slowly, like a frozen river which, under the golden warmth of the morning sun, trickles timidly to life. The holidays are over, and now even their spirit begins to fade. Do you also feel like the year’s only truly starting now? Like the first week of January is a mock week, a rehearsal for the real thing?
Speaking of which, my cold London adventures are slowly warming under the tropical sun. Soon, the chocolates I brought —already melty now— will run out. So will the shortbread, the doughnuts, and the new clothes will no longer be new. Everything will slowly acclimatise, losing that delicate, intriguing foreignness that is so dear to me. And Time will flow again. Warmth will surge from within the rivers, breaking through the thin, already fragile layer of ice and Time will gush again through February and March and April and all the rest.
I have no plans for any lulls in the flow of my Time, no pitstops planned. (Although my sister is getting married in April, which means I get to see many people I hold dear. And well, Time is sure to cut me some slack then). But until then and afterwards, I want to fill my year with little celebrations and small events; everyday adventures that bring meaning to life.
So now, I have a growing “To-Watch” list, which includes Studio Ghibli movies I have not watched, a re-watching of “Her” by Spike Jonze, “Lost in Translation”, “A Star is Born”, Wes Anderson movies, “Silence of the Lambs” (Curve ball!), “Loving Vincent”, a re-watching of “Before Sunrise” and all the Agatha Christie’s Poirot I can get my hands on. And add to that a “To-Read” list that is much more varied.
Because I am making this year count. Not just in the big days, but in the many, many small ones too. I am endeavouring to not waste this barely noticeable, difficultly remembered string of everydays that makes up the bulk of an average life. So this way I can look back at the year with a warm, nebulous feeling, not knowing how to explain why these innocuous days I cannot pinpoint on a calendar ( What was I doing March 30th ? And August 10? And…) make me feel so whole.
I really believe that the days I am hoping to be blessed with are going to be good. Because I am setting out with intent, channelling what good there is in me. No matter what happens, it will be good. Somehow, somehow.
Listening to :