I learnt this year that soccer can be played to an empty stadium; they played cricket like that too, but it was only half the sport. I learnt this year that some summer plants can survive the winter, and they can do this quietly, in their own secret ways. I learnt that a child grows like sunlight does; he is advancing and expanding in ways that are imperceptible to me. I learnt that friendship is possible with my past companion, and that it is necessary to resist the hubris of legalese that demands conclusive endings. I learnt that if you get close, a teardrop resembles a snowflake, but get closer and they become unique works of art. I learnt that ageing parents, as they get frail, are still more resilient than they appear to be. So are newborns: they find life, life finds them, always.
I learnt this year that congratulating someone on a big life event — someone I’ve never met in person, or don’t know anything about — matters more than I previously thought it did. I learnt that single parenting is every bit as hard as they say it is. I learnt to console my grieving beloved with my voice only: Phone is all we had keeping us held when the pandemic snatched her parent from her. I learnt that living in the age of screens aggressively demanding my attention, it is still a window that shows what is most precious to view. I learnt that butterflies need a proper burial, that last rites do bring solace; whether you keep faith in religion, or don’t, has nothing to do with it. I learnt that words have the kind of life you breathe into them; you can make them light as air, you can pollute them with insincerity, you can cleanse them with vulnerability.
I learnt this year that I still applaud when they send a rocket into space; the sheer scale of the unknown out there thrills me no end. I learnt that "falling in love" doesn’t describe what actually happens when hearts entwine; it is more like a forest that grows into feelings, or, feelings into a forest —what’s the difference, really? I learnt that I often forget what I learn, that I forget I forget, and occasionally, I can’t tell if I am learning something all over again. That’s how, I have come to believe, it works: forgetting is a part of learning, as are several years a part of a single one.
I learnt, long ago, that new year resolutions are useless, that the turn of a year is really only a date, but continuity needs punctuation to make sense.
And so, into another year, from this year, I go.