Koh Mak, Thailand
New Year puts me on edge. But it’s an edgy kind of edge, an edge with a rust-blade and delirium. I look back on 2014 and I’m fucking glad that that’s been burnt to a crisp. I woke up late and spent the rest of the morning at my favorite cafe looking at people’s faces. I saw a brightness there: a group of four in their fifties were talking about projects waiting for them back home, toddlers chased each other around the cafe barefoot, and a little boy drew pirate ships while his mum told his dad that she’ll start writing that novel this year. And even among the gangly teenagers, a brightness shone through their hangovers. I don’t side with the cynics who blather on about resolutions being heavy and unbearable. Resolutions are intentions. The wind cups them in its hands to carry them off somewhere safe and mermaids leap out of the sea to bury them beneath the ocean floor where they grow into corals. Intentions are powerful stuff. Don’t fuck with them.
I’m looking back through 2014, and it reads like a bad Murakami novel. Convoluted, filled with symbolisms that don’t tie together, characters who should have died but didn’t, and characters who died but should have been given better lines first, but it’s still fucking literature. My life moved forward. I didn’t bury my head in the familiar. I spat in the face of anxiety and moved to a new country. Some days I wonder if I made the right move. Some days I know I did.