some snippets from 2025
some thoughts and memories that might mean something to you, too
I wanted to write a post about my goals for the new year, but I realized that I didn’t want to do that without first reflecting on the one that has passed. Reflecting is a powerful tool. This year was surprising, to say the least. A lot of amazing things happened, and a lot of not-so-amazing things happened, but I learned an equal amount from both about people and art and writing and travel, but mostly about myself. These are some thoughts and snippets that stood out to me. There are many more, probably, but these were the ones that popped up most often over the past week as I was writing this:
Bloom
I released my second book of poetry, Bloom. It was such a wonderful experience because I got to illustrate and edit it with the help of three of my close friends, who I am extremely lucky to know and whose talent amazes me. I started a new project, one that reminds me more of my first book, Young, so much so that I wondered if publishing Bloom was a career misstep, a detour on a road I would ultimately reverse on. I was selling both books at a market in November, and when I had a moment of time to myself I sat in a corner alone and re-read Bloom from start to finish. I realized that it was closer to my other work than I thought, and even closer to me than I could have guessed. I remembered all those small facets of myself that seemed so much larger when I was writing it and how the pieces of us never truly go away but just shapeshift to fit inside our bodies. So maybe the lesson of this chapter was to trust your work and trust yourself and believe that you are capable of anything. And those regrets are silly, really, because we can’t even undo things the way we may want to. Sometimes the only way to go is forward.
Toronto
I spent a month in Canada with my sister, niece and nephew. I wrote and walked and watched cars splatter rain near gutters on wet sidewalks, the residue it leaves behind on windows and everything else. I read some of the best books I’ve ever read. I got to see friends I haven’t seen in a while and try the best cookie I’ve ever tasted (strawberry, my favorite). I always think I may want to live there one day, but being there also makes me remember how much I love Kuwait. Maybe it felt like home because the people I loved were there, too, the same way that Boston felt like home because it housed my friends and the birds that I loved to hear chirp in the mornings and the geese near the Fens and some of the best memories of my life. I got to appreciate the concept of a “home” more than I ever had before. “Home,” I learned, morphs and evolves with us, the same way writing does. Nothing you considered to be “home” ever truly goes away.
The Shelf and Workshops
For so long, I felt so alone. For even longer, I made the mistake of thinking another person could fill the void that existed inside of me and sought that companionship everywhere I went. Eventually, I learned that people come and go, and that no one will fulfill you until you have the ability to fulfill yourself (I read something the other day that said don’t look for someone to fill your cup, fill your own cup and let them cause the overflow, or something like that. I could be completely wrong).
But meeting and connecting with beautiful souls can definitely help temper whatever you might be feeling. It is a sign that I’m on the right path and attracting people who also care about the world and literature and art and being alive. I know the value of my community, and I believe wholeheartedly in their talent, skills, and success. Because of my book club, The Shelf, and the events I host, I get to meet some of the most wonderful, kind-hearted, and intelligent people. I get to read their writing and hear about their lives and connect with them. Some of my highlights from this year include reading Lost in Mecca, My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Annie Bot, Flesh and Bunny, and all of the vibrant discussions that followed. I think it’s a beautiful thing to see the individual beauty that exists inside every person when they talk about something they’re passionate about and express themselves. I hope I always get to cultivate a space where that is possible.
Misc.
I did something that I’m really proud of, no matter what the outcome of it is (a few things, really, but one stands out the most). That I never thought I’d do and always questioned my skill set for. I learned that I am my own biggest hater, but that I’m also capable of loving myself when the going gets tough.
Memories
A video of me getting my second ear piercings popped up for me on Snapchat. Eight years ago today. It was at a Claire’s at a mall in Boston, or maybe a bit outside of Boston. It might have been in Cambridge. I wonder if that Claire’s still exists. The technician put the stud gun to my lobe, and I winced only slightly. I wore a Victoria’s Secret fleece and the glasses I have long retired because at some point, I started to think they made me look like a nerd. My friend, Sabrina, was filming the video. I’ll be attending her wedding this week.
It’s funny, the little way things ebb and flow and convulse and peter out. The constants and the turbulent. The shelter and the storm. I look at little me and wonder why I was so critical of myself. And then I remember that I still am. And a part of me longs for those Sunday afternoons in Boston, infinite stretches of time, although a larger part of me likes where I am now. Maybe there is no way to long or yearn without comparison, the thief of anything joyful, but also that abundant fruit of yearning. Because if you never measure it up against what you have, how will we ever know what we have lost?
Cats
I have a foster cat called Oreo. He might weigh five pounds and he has a stomach bigger than his whole body and soft, white fur with the most unique patches of grey and black stripes. His face is the size of a teaspoon. I spent a long time wondering whether he was going to live or die, he was so sick. Some people suggested putting him down. I felt evil for holding out, worried about whether or not I was causing him suffering or pain or sadness. Observing his every movement for a sign from God (sometimes, when we want to help people, we cause the most hurt). But every time I look into his eyes I see him for the fighter he is, staying afloat in that same storm I mentioned. I recognize it because I’ve seen it in myself, too.
Oreo is definitely one of the best things to come out of this year. He is my angel in my own time of pain, just two underdogs trying to heal, who found one another and breathed new life.
Wednesdays
I’d love that. What about Wednesday? I texted, except I don’t actually text this formally (actually, most of my texts are full of typos).
I looked up the spiritual significance of Wednesdays, since every day has a meaning according to something I read in J-14 Magazine when I was eight and probably somewhere else since then. I thought I might have been born on one, but I was crestfallen to learn that I was born on a Friday. I realized that Wednesdays have always been semi-special. My book club usually meets on Wednesdays, and I always release my books on Wednesdays, an auspicious day for Cancers.
Wikipedia says that the name “Wednesday” comes from “Woden,” a Norse god, and that it’s a day of writing and wisdom, which makes a decent amount of sense. I think of how everything I do and every step I take has a ripple effect that could be felt by people after me, the same way that Woden did when the legacy of Wednesdays was cemented. I think it’s something we don’t necessarily realize in the moment, but rather when we need to see it the most.
Surprising Myself
Somewhere along the way, I started to trust myself. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but a few days ago, I was confronted by something that would have sent me over the edge a year or two ago, and I felt completely unphased by it. Something inside of me told me it would all be okay. That I held the keys to unlock everything I ever wanted, and that I believed in myself enough to make it happen. When the realization of this settled over me, I felt surprised. Like when the doorbell rings and you expect your delivery driver with your lunch but really, it’s another delivery driver bringing you something you ordered months ago and completely forgot about. I had asked to become this type of person and there she was, typing away at her laptop on a Saturday night. Progress is invisible, it seems. Or maybe it was just invisible to me.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way
I wrote an essay on Substack titled “I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.” I think it’s the most apt way to describe what this year was like and how I predict the upcoming one will be (predictions are mostly futile). For the first time in my life, I don’t have many expectations for myself, and it’s not coming from a place of doubt or scarcity. To the contrary, I feel more capable than I ever have before. I don’t know what 2026 will bring any more than I know what tomorrow might bring, but I know that wherever I’m going, I’m only looking forward.
What a way to wrap up the year
I really enjoyed reading this! 🤍 there’s a strong sense of acceptance and gratitude in the way this is written, which is beautiful