I grew up believing in magic and happy endings. I loved movies and storybooks; they were often my escapes. During my teenage years, I would spend all night awake, lost in a book by Meg Cabot just because of how wonderful the romances turned out to be. Needless to say, I grew up to be a hopeless romantic. My weakness was kindness. I couldn’t love myself properly, so when people showed interest in me, that blindsided me a little.
Thirty years later, life is a little bit different. I’m no longer watching the first sunrise of the year with my closest friends at the Tsunami monument. For multiple reasons, one being the monument has moved to the west, and my friendships didn’t really survive. Life happened, but I made new friendships that filled its gaps slowly.
How do I feel about leaving 2023 behind? I feel close to nothing. The year has been an endless disappointment until the very last day, and there’s barely anything about it that I would cherish or miss.
She Was Sea 