A lot has happened this year

A lot has happened this year. I know we always say that, but this year, it truly feels different. This year has thrown everything at me, more than I ever expected. It started on a high, my script was selected for grad film. I can still feel the rush of that moment, that tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’m heading in the right direction. It felt like a step toward something big, something real.

Then, out of nowhere, I ended up co-writing with someone and making a friend. I didn’t see that coming. It wasn’t just the work, it was the connection- the kind that you didn’t plan for but turns out to be meaningful. It made me feel like I was part of something again.

And then there was this… attraction. A connection with someone that caught me off guard. It was strange, this pull between us that felt undeniable, but at the same time, confusing. I didn’t know what to do with it—still don’t, honestly. But maybe that’s just how life works sometimes. It throws things at you that you’re not prepared for and you’re left figuring it out as you go.

But the year also came with its share of challenges. I spent so much time at home, expecting it to be a retreat, a place to recharge. But it wasn’t that at all. Instead of finding peace, it started to feel like a cage. The comfort zone I thought would give me safety became suffocating. It felt like I was stuck in a loop, surrounded by the same four walls and my own thoughts, unable to escape the things I didn’t want to face. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was loud. It was a reminder of everything I hadn’t figured out yet.

Sometimes, the comfort zone, which you think will hold you, can feel like a trap. I learned that the hard way. You think being home will help you heal, but it just brings everything to the surface, everything you’ve been running from. And that’s when I realised that comfort isn’t always what it seems. Sometimes, it’s the hardest place to be because it makes you confront things you’re not ready to face.

Another harsh lesson this year was the realisation that people leave. Sometimes, they choose to walk away, and there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s painful, especially when it’s someone you care about. But I think what stung even more was coming to terms with the fact that sometimes, you have to be the one to let go. There were moments when people I never expected to leave, did. And instead of holding on, I had to step back and accept that sometimes, distance is necessary- not just for them, but for me, too. It was the hardest thing to do, to let go of the idea that people should always stay, even when the relationship no longer serves either of you. But in a way, it gave me the power back. I stopped waiting for people to choose me and realized I could be the one to choose when to walk away, when to leave.

I also think a lot about therapy. Sometimes, I tell myself I should go- reach out, ask for help. But I can’t shake the hesitation. What if it doesn’t work? What if I sit there and can’t say a word? What if I end up like Elliot from Mr. Robot, stuck in my own head, unable to open up? There’s this fear that I’ll be too closed off, that no one will really understand me, even if I try. And then, there’s that thought that keeps coming back- what if I have Borderline Personality Disorder? A part of me is afraid that I do, but another part almost wants it to be true. It’s like an explanation for everything that doesn’t make sense. But at the same time, part of me wants to reject it- because if it’s true, then it’s one more thing to carry, one more thing that defines me. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to accept that.

But what really gets to me is the way people see me. I’m a writer, and sometimes, that feels like a curse. People don’t always take what I say seriously because they think I’m just playing a character, acting out some story. It’s like they can’t separate the real me from the writer they think I am. They hear my words, and they assume I’m always in “story mode”-that I’m always performing. But when I’m speaking from the heart, it’s real. It’s not fiction. It’s me, trying to figure things out. And it’s frustrating when people brush it off, like it’s just another layer of something I’m creating, rather than something I’m living.

It’s exhausting, really. Being a writer, you’re expected to have all the answers, to be able to express everything perfectly. But sometimes, I just want to be understood as myself, not as a character. I want people to see that what I’m saying is true, even if it doesn’t come wrapped up in neat words. It’s like I’m always fighting against the expectation that I’m just telling stories, when in reality, I’m just trying to make sense of what’s going on inside me.

And now, here I am, at the end of the year. I’m not sure if I’m ready for the next one. There’s this overwhelming sense of uncertainty, this fear of what comes next. I’ve been thrown into so many experiences this year-some good, some painful-and now, I’m standing on the edge, unsure of what’s to come. It’s like I’m holding my breath, waiting to see what life will throw at me next.

But at least I can say this: a lot happened this year. More than I expected. And even though it was overwhelming, I’m starting to see that all of it-every moment—has shaped me in ways I never imagined. So, maybe I’m not ready for the next year, but I can’t deny that I’ve lived this one. It’s been full of unexpected lessons, and as hard as it’s been, I know I’ll carry them with me into whatever comes next.