Post-Free Posting

As much as you try to deny it, you can sense the new year approaching even without looking at the calender. As the wind blows, it carries trepidation and as it crosses you, that substance enters you, morphing into a human-like form which stays in your body until it goes to sleep. Trepidation is not dead; it is dormant. It feeds on the adrenaline.

Trepidation of the new year comes about because you are afraid of what might bring in the new year. I heard a conversation in 2005 at the beginning of the year: in 2003, there was SARS; in 2004, there was tsunami; what would happen in 2005?

Besides trepidation, there is also expectation. That is when we do new year resolutions. We hope that in the coming year, we can achieve this and that... The truth is, we can never tick everything off in our resolution list. Come on, there are 12 months for us to do everything. Surely there is time for that. Exactly one year later, you do the same thing again. It is time to look back and reflect on what you have done or achieved in that year. It is a vicious cycle: Trepidation, Expectation, Action, Reflection.

Personally, I never have a habit of drawing out resolutions, only once. As I have come to realize that I could never actualize them, there is no point for me to do anymore of such things. What I have left are a huge percentage of Trepidation, infinitesimal of Expectation, Action, and what is remaining is about 15% of Reflection. My only expectation for each year is that everything will proceed smoothly, no accidents, may the world live in peace. Such a simple wish, yet so difficult to accomplish. It feels like I am asking too much behind that request.

I had discovered a huge irony yesterday when I was doing my annual review of the year. I began this routine in mid 2010, so it officially started in 2011. I would strike off each day on my calender based on how things had gone in that particular day. Black strike for a bad day and blue strike for an uneventful day. The number of black strikes had increased as the years progressed, until 2013, I only had 13 black strikes. If memory had not failed me, there were a little over 50 strikes in 2012. The irony? Despite 2012 being the worst year of my life, the memories that surfaced when I recalled the events on that year were happy ones. Au contraire, I lived like a zombie each school day, shutting off every mechanisms in me that make me feel. When I put on my shoes, I have to tell myself that it is time to put on a poker face. This is mental torture. It will not go away until years to come.