Water droplets raced across the window as our plane accelerated into the winter night. Flickering outside, a lonely red light blinked against the silhouette of a wing. I couldn’t see the horizon nor the people working on the tarmac. It was in that moment, buckled in place, surrounded by sleeping passengers, suddenly aware of the new year, when I faced an old realization. No matter where I am, I cannot escape the feeling of time flying.
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It’s December 1st.
I woke up around 10 a.m. thinking about new year’s resolutions—whether I would do them, if they worked for me in the past, where I’d find motivation to keep up. Lately, I’m grateful for more time to rest, but I’m also restless—wondering if I am falling short of the enlightenment I’m striving for. I don’t expect myself to start a cultural revolution, but I hope that I won’t fall into default living, the kind where I rely on default behaviors and frequently change my opinions based on what’s in front of me. I hope that as long as I’m kicking, I’m alive. For many years, when someone asked me, “how was your week?”, I often replied, “good, not much happened, how about you?”— quickly deflecting the attention from myself to another. For some reason, those questions--how are you? how was your week? what are you up to?--asked out of courtesy and good-nature, made me feel shame, as if I had done something wrong and they were confronting me about it. Assessing my life was a painful process because I graded my day based on my accomplishments and productivity.
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AuthorElisa is a Vietnamese-Canadian writer and editor. Her work focuses on familial love, self-discovery, and immigrant experiences. Recent Works+ Silent Interactions Archives
January 2022
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