It’s been a whirlwind—these past few months, the tail-end of 2024 and the first few weeks of 2025. The way things have unfolded, it’s almost like the real new year is only starting now, with the Chinese New Year. Maybe it’s because I need a reset, a clearer marker of a new beginning, after all the chaos that has defined my life recently.
Emergencies after emergencies. Financial ruin. I never thought I’d see myself using those words so intimately, but here I am, sitting in a coworking space, staring at my laptop and willing myself to keep going. The past months have been relentless, like an unending series of gut punches, each one leaving me winded, doubting if I can still stand. And yet, somehow, I do.
Lately, I’ve found solace in black and white photography again. I used to love it—capturing moments stripped of distractions, reducing everything to contrast and form, light and shadow. Revisiting it now feels like a mental retreat, a way to process everything without the noise of color, without the excess that sometimes makes life feel overwhelming.
There’s something soothing about focusing on composition, on details that might otherwise get lost. Maybe it’s my subconscious trying to find clarity in the simplicity of monochrome, a way of reminding myself that even in the absence of vibrancy, beauty still exists.
Through all of this, I find myself praying more. Surrendering. I never used to be this way, never thought I’d turn to faith so desperately. But when the weight of everything threatens to crush me, I close my eyes, breathe, and trust that there’s something greater at work, that there’s purpose in the pain, even if I don’t see it yet. It is hard to believe in brighter days when all I have known recently is hardship, but maybe that’s what faith is—believing despite not knowing.
I wanted 2024 to be the year I embraced a low-tox life—mindful of what I consume, what I allow in my space, who I allow in my life. But I was too caught up in survival, in just getting through the day, that it never really happened. So I’m carrying it over to 2025. A commitment to less toxicity—less in my products, in my belongings, in my relationships, in my mind. Less waste, too. More reusables, more DIY, more intentionality. Less shopping, less clutter, less of anything that weighs me down unnecessarily.
It’s not just about removing the bad but making room for what truly matters. I want to surround myself with things, people, and habits that nurture rather than drain me. I want to approach life with a sense of purpose, rather than constantly feeling like I’m running on empty. And maybe this is part of the pivoting—learning to let go of what no longer serves me, even if it’s difficult, even if it’s painful.
This is the hardest phase of my life. I won’t sugarcoat it. I’ve wanted to give up more times than I can count. But if there’s anything I’m learning, it’s that pivoting is survival. That hope, no matter how faint, is still hope. That there is a path forward, even if I don’t quite see the whole road yet.
So maybe this really is the real new year. A chance to start again, a chance to believe in better days ahead. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get there.
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