2016 was unforgettable. After reading Zach Bornstein’s “My New Year’s Facebook Status” that appeared in The New Yorker, I felt inspired to recount my year in a similar fashion:
I’ll never forget 2016 – the year I stopped apologizing for who I am, drank enough coffee to power a Best Buy, let butterflies land on my face, tried Indian food, baked two raspberry cheesecakes from scratch (with familial approval), screamed Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” in an Uber, put my anxiety behind me to travel abroad, tried to put my fears behind me to ride the London Eye (I still went, but rode with very sweaty palms), got into the Wellington club in London, scraped a paella skillet clean in Barcelona, bought a FitBit, watched over a dozen documentaries, got culture shock, covered my first trial, saw Jack’s Mannequin play Everything in Transit in full, visited The Guardian headquarters, received an award at a ceremony with Tina Fey’s attendance, started Infinite Jest, wrote very poor fiction stories, got really angry in the British Library over a punk exhibit, stood in the same room as Baz Luhrmann, karaoke-d Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone,”confirmed my allergy to sesame, photographed a pole dancing studio, listened to jazz and The Beach Boys, spent a lot of my time by myself, watched Jeopardy and shouted answers at my television screen and learned I know too much useless information, started my last semester as an undergraduate, opened up – specifically, to the amazing folks I lived with and met abroad, almost fell asleep during a tattoo, grew sunflowers in my mother’s backyard, felt thankful for my roommates, gave more money to Sephora than previous years, drank from a fountain in Vatican City, completed my capstone course, never broke the habit of needing to chew two pieces of gum at once, fell in love with dark beer and bourbon and red wine and a city, but found the most love in a caffeinated beverage at Sant’Eustachio in Rome (see left), called my mom stressed and crying about things she didn’t understand, found that home isn’t necessarily a physical place, didn’t keep in touch with people, felt more comfortable saying I have depression and anxiety, had a maintenance man come into the room at my hostel to fix the air conditioner at 3 a.m., took the LSAT, reassured myself that journalism was my passion, ate cheese in London’s oldest wine cellar, identified myself as someone with feminist views, cried the morning after Election Day, cried about school, cried, went to Shakespeare’s Globe – twice, sat on Parliament Square Garden and watched Big Ben during my last night in London, realized my “can’t”s (dance, pick up anything that weighs more than me, speak a foreign language effortlessly nor seductively), had another flood in my apartment, failed a lot, learned even more, kept pushing myself, kept a 3.9 GPA, stayed alive and made the resolution to have a better 2017.
Thank you, 2016. I’ll never forget you.