2016 in Review: A Monthly Lesson Given to Me
There are so many souls reeling from the year that has just passed us. There are people hurting, rejoicing, reflecting. There are people counting their blessings. There are people learning to forgive. There are people searching for hope. There are people praying. Me? I am entering the new year reflecting, and doing a bit of praying myself. I am praying that 2017 brings me the peace, strength, forgiveness, and compassion that 2016 both tested and took from me. This past year has been filled with so much change, and so many lessons. It overwhelms me to think about how much I’ve learned, and so this New Year’s Eve, I spent time breaking my year down into all of the months, and all of the moments that 2016 gave me—the ones that changed my life.
January
New beginnings. This was the time to worry about resolutions, and gym memberships, and US history midterms, and FAFSA. This was the time to go on lunch dates (on days we weren’t going to the gym). This was the time to recover from the heartbreak of rejection—the ending of a five-month long scholarship process I had painfully (but willingly) put myself through. This was the time to pick a new dream. January taught me that there is a beautiful balance between things staying the same—the midterms, the lunch dates—and things changing—the workout schedule, the dreams. January taught me that shedding skin doesn’t have to equate to tearing yourself apart. Sometimes you let the pieces go, gracefully.
February
Cold. I remember the entire month, I froze. This was the time for hot lattes and gloves with holes at the fingertips so I could still hold my green and white metro card firmly in my pockets as I spent too much time waiting for buses. This was the time for my best friend to stand beside me, shivering, sipping iced coffee because she couldn’t stand warm drinks (I still think she was trying to make a statement, but whatever). This was the time for Valentine’s Day celebrations in the middle of Starbucks—set up for me by the same shivering girl. This was the time for cut out paper hearts and 7 am singalongs to old, cheesy love songs. This was the time for prom dress shopping. This was the time for sneaking out. This was the time for life to look at me and say “sometimes your best friend can be your best love—and that’s okay.” February taught me to love people who did amazing things for me instead of only saying amazing things to me. February taught me to love my best friend.
March
This was the time for letters—for dozens and dozens of letters. Acceptance letters. Rejection letters. Scholarship awards. Financial Aid awards. Application incentives. More acceptance letters. This was the time I cursed colleges for wasting so much paper on me—who only had her heart set on one school, in one city. This was the time for working. This was the time for sitting in the college office and sorting through my classmates’ futures while our college counselor (who was basically a superhero in disguise) fought long and hard and relentlessly for our futures to be as big and bright and as full of potential as she found all of us. This was the time for the nitty gritty. This was the time for writing competitions. This was the time for my first performance of spoken word poetry (in front of a real crowd!) and a time for taking chances. This was the time for comparison—my dreams to theirs, my writing to theirs, my voice to theirs. March gave me a heartbreaking sense of smallness. March took me out of my Boston-dreaming bubble and threw me into an ocean of perspective. March taught me that my hands will always be too small, and my voice won’t always be the steadiest, and my accomplishments will always pale in comparison if I let them.
April
This was the time to fall to pieces. This was the time to stay home from school for three days straight because I couldn’t find a reason to go back. This was the time for anger; to hate the world for being unfair, to hate myself for not being smart enough, to hate the SATs, to hate those more privileged than myself, to hate college for being so expensive. This was the month my Boston-bubble popped. Boston college didn’t want me and Boston University didn’t have any more money to give me. I remember walking home for two hours, counting my footsteps, sobbing on the sidewalk, hysterical, the day I realized I had absolutely no idea where to turn or where to go. I had no back-up plan. I was naive in dreaming this dream. April taught me how to fall apart, how to allow myself to hurt this way. April taught me how to re-build, and re-dream, and re-consider. April forced me to sift through all those letters, over and over again. April taught me that life takes things away from you, and sometimes you can’t understand why or how you’re supposedly better off without them—because they were all you had hoped for at one point. April taught me to find peace in this confusion, and to find time to hurt.
May
This was the time for commitment-decision day was upon us! This was the time for rushed, unsure choices. This was the time for sighs of relief—the college process was “over” by official standards. This was the time for prom dress fittings and makeup look appointments. This was the time to spend hours roaming around Forest Hills, not really getting anything done. This was the time for hour-long Starbucks dates spent story-telling. This was the time for pinky promises, and final projects, and AP exams, and senior cut day. This was the time for water balloon fights and fear that this would be the last. This was the time to wonder. This was the time to stand in front of 27 of my classmates, and an angel disguised as a teacher, and admit that I was terrified that I would never find this again—that high school had become a weird sense of safety and security, and I had made homes in the people I found there, and I was terrified of moving on from them and losing myself in the process. May taught me to hold people close, to love and appreciate them. May taught me that time is an illusion. May taught me to not be so afraid of the ending that I forget how beautiful it can be.
June
This was the time for graduation. This was the time for Ubers to Long Island with the other (better) half of me. This was the time for ice cream dates and helping a complete stranger do her makeup in a university bathroom. This was the time for gown fittings and long, hot, walks to Michael's in search of seven sets of decorations---one for each of our caps. This was the time to discover fabric glue came in a spray can! This was the time to laugh—hard, and long. This was the time to dance until 5 am. June taught me how to celebrate. June taught me that the people at my side were extraordinary and patient. June taught me to spend every minute loving what I had. June taught me to ignore the pain I knew was coming, and refused to accept.
July
This was the time for silence. We had let each other go. This was the time for necessary space—from each other, from school, from celebrating. This was the time to settle in silence, and allow ourselves to feel the separation. It was slow, at first. My family acted as a brilliant distraction. This was the time for Ethan to turn 7! Ethan’s birthday meant the same thing every year—a week away from the city. This July took us to the Poconos; it took us to pottery places and water parks and overpriced stuffed animals from fancy gift shops. This was the time for arcade nights and room service. July taught me to love my mom, to love my sister, to love my brother, to love my stepfather, to love my body in a bathing suit even if no one else did. July taught me to miss my friends, and to ride the biggest waterslide no matter how afraid I was. July taught me that the fake rocks in the lazy river are NOT as soft as you might think. July taught me not to turn away from the sun anymore, and that surrounding yourself with new kinds of love was okay—even if you’re scared.
August
This was the time for mistakes. This was the time I let one too many toxic people back into my life. This was the time I believed those who told me they loved me simply because I was afraid no one else would. This was the time for packing—college was coming. This was the time for freshman orientation and roommate agreements. This was the time for firsts. This was the time for bills and new sheets and a room full of packing boxes. This was the time to write letters to my little brother, begging him to forgive me. This was the time to spend long nights on the swing with my sister. August served as the turning point in my year—this was the beginning, and the end, of so many things in my life. August taught me to give up, and to let go. August taught me that move-in day is awkward, and so are my suitemates. August taught me to stand on my own feet, for the first time ever, alone in a room, with my family many miles away.
This was the time for parties—for coming home two weeks after leaving to a surprise birthday celebration in the backyard. This was the time for first time frat house parties. This was the time to walk around downtown Albany for hours, with no destination, and no real friends beside me, and no idea what I was doing. This was the time for necessary confusion. This was the time to read through six different syllabi. This was the time to discover new malls and tattoo parlors, and to get to know six girls in too-personal ways. This was the time to attend block parties around the podium, and attend interest meetings, and get my feet (and maybe my hair) wet in the fountain. September taught me to enjoy every risk, even if they didn’t work out so well. September taught me to use Blackboard—and to realize that the link really will lock you out at 11:59. September taught me to laugh at myself, and to laugh with strangers, and to make my dorm room a revolving door for new people, and new laughter, and new habits, and new memories—September taught me to welcome them all.
October
This was the time for new things---new friends, new outfits, new parties, new jobs, new majors. This was the time for me to go on an ice cream date with a friend-of-a-friend that would turn my world around. This was the time for “bigs” and “littles” and many, many “news”. This was the time for a Halloween from hell. This was the time for letting myself step away. This was to spend the month’s end at home, recovering. October taught me that transitions are quick and unforgiving; they don’t care if you’re ready or not. October taught me how to jump, even if I wasn’t ready. I ended up finding a home (or two) on Dutch quad, and friends who stayed with me through long days, and even longer nights. October taught me that some people come into your life not to hold your hand, but to have your back.
November
This was the time for working non-stop. This was the time between midterms and Thanksgiving that throw college students into a daze. All we can think about is home. And for me, in particular, work. This was the time for ten hour shifts and promotions. This was we forgot to study and then forgot to care. This was the time to try (and fail) to ignite old flames. This was the time to discover new, better ones, that didn’t burn nearly as bad (or rather, at all). This was the time for elections, and heartbreak; for coming to the realization that according to most of the country—I am everything wrong with the world because I am female, and half-Muslim, and come from a lower-class, immigrant family. This was the time for surgeries and new furniture; for coming home to chaos and instability and re-inventing the meaning of “home” through that. November taught me that I am exactly where I am meant to be, even if it doesn’t always feel right. November taught me to defend my voice, and my place.
December
This was the time for love, and stress. This was the time for new relationships. This was the end of the semester—so this was also the time for finals. This was the time for 3-foot-tall Christmas trees in too-small dorm hallways, and stockings small enough to fit in my pocket. This was the time for Secret Santas and guessing games. This was when we all craved to be home, in the holiday spirit, finished with the semester and the papers and forced interactions—yet, we had to survive a few more sleepless nights and stressful days. This was the time for tears, and textbooks, and an espresso bar opening in the library! This was the time for survival. This was the time for home. This was the time to spend time with my sister. This was the time for last-minute present wrapping and more than a few unexpected visitors on Christmas Day. December taught me how to survive my first finals week (barely). December taught me that asking for help doesn’t always mean I’ll receive it. December taught me to welcome new loves and new people with open arms, no matter how afraid I might be. December offered me hope in new beginnings, and now, on the bad days—that’s all I’ve got.
Happy New Year.
