Time has brought us once again to the end of another race. Whether we won or not in this race is no important matter now. Ultimately, what matters more is the fact that we are able to reach this point, to say that we have accomplished no matter how small or great our accomplishments may be, and finally to acknowledge to ourselves the courage which brought our feet to this resting place.
2015 was a year of transitions. True, I was never more stable in life that I am this year. But still, every now and then I found myself fazed by people and events which I have no control of, seized by an immeasurable sadness which seemed to have dominated this life. Despite the abundance I have enjoyed this year, I still found myself wanting for something else: something entirely distant and foreign, something no amount of money could ever buy or even replace.
At the end of it all, I realized that there is nothing ever more truly important in life than acceptance: to learn to accept things as they are, to try not to change people, to try not to resist. Forgiveness, I learned just now, comes much later on. It will fall on people’s hearts only after they cleared their souls with acceptance.
Like the past years, there are so much that I want to change in 2015. (Isn’t that always the way?) All the people and the events and the memories that I wish I could twist somehow if only to make it fit to a certain ideal I have in my head. But Time is unforgiving, oblivious to desire. What it does is to surge ahead of all people and all places, never stopping to ask what and how we feel. It lurches forward like a cannonball eager to strike a camp. Time blasts us away.
In the heart of this hopelessness comes this only power we could ever afford: this frail act of acceptance for people and for their decision (or indecision), and ultimately for the way things turn out.
I have spent all my younger years in rebellion, swallowed every truth in the world in order to fight for my own, but it only brought hate in my life. In the end, we stumble upon a deadlock which makes us put all out defenses down. In the end, there is a striking revelation which makes all our protests run silent; a revelation that there is something sublime in accepting things as they are; in choosing to stay silent and to watch your years pass by as in parade; in choosing to let Time move according to its pace and to let it move you.
I have seen what it was like to fight for your own right in this world, but in the end the only response I ever got from life was a smack in the face in such a shameful way that it makes you ask yourself about your arrogance. Who are we really? What right do we have over things we proudly call our own?
People may call it surrender, but I call it art. It takes a certain kind of soulful communion with Time to be able to let the world go and get mad and run its own course. When the clock strikes 12 tonight, I will not be ready. Yes, I won’t be ready to face a brand new year with its brand new responsibilities. I won’t be ready to turn a year older. I won’t be ready to graduate. But it is in never being prepared for life that makes it ever more real and exciting.
I will always look back to this year as a year of both re-learning and re-acquiring truths and a year of losing insights. It is only in that kind of loss do we ever find ourselves again. I will always pay tribute to the language I have lost, to the words that have burned out in my fervent attempt to distinguish my expressions. I will look back to my mistakes and wish that I could make them over and over again, until the wounds run dry and the truth of them bleeds out.
To my dear yellow diary, I will always look back to you as the only one who stood next to me when all the love and the trust in the world seemed to have flickered out in the dark. I will always remember your acceptance of me, together with all my hopes, my memories and my thoughts. Thank you for welcoming me to your pages and for making me feel that I am home. Writing to you was like coming home, and for the million times I break and bleed in this life, this was the only time I ever felt someone welcome me home.
I do not know what lies for us next year but I do know this: that we will carry these battle scars and will continue with life until our Time tells us that it is over.
Our only armor is acceptance.