I’m in Ubud, Bali for a new year countdown.
Another solo trip is not so much exciting and fulfilling to me as the previous ones did, but here I am, surrounded by yogis, vegans, vegan ink tattoo shops, hipster digital nomads, muscular angmohs on motorbikes, skinny angmohs with dreadlocks, and stuff. The dreadlock guys at the next table are talking about reality, existence, desire, and prayers, nothing that I can interpret.
Social media has made it ridiculously easy to create a year-end reflection. They show you whatever you posted in the past year and ask you to re-post them. For people like me who mostly only post happy things online, I guess reposting old posts cannot reflect the real 2018 that I had.
2017 has been a year of healing, of trying to step out of darkness into the sunshine and new life. I developed new hobbies, started a pet Instagram account, made new friends, did lots of yoga, and went back to dance.
2018 has been a year of accepting who I am, of embracing the negativity and imperfections, of understanding what I want.
I may have been drawing more, made more friends, traveled to new places, worked out a lot, been drinking a lot, but there is more.
