New Year Rigmarole
You know, there’s just something about having to witness the New Year in California. We’re always one of the last places on Earth to welcome the new year. I have to celebrate “Happy New Year” with everyone, and even take a nap before I get to mine. Sometimes I tell my friends in Nigeria that they live in the future, and when they greet me about the new year and how I was celebrating, I say something like I’m still in the last year. Anyway, that’s it.
The New Year always comes in loud bursts—countdowns, declarations, resolutions shouted into the cold like promises the wind is supposed to remember. I’ve never trusted that kind of start. The world, after all, rarely changes just because we yelled at it at midnight.
What I trust more are quieter thresholds.
In many cultures, the new year is not a rupture but a crossing—a moment when we pause at the edge of time, look back at the footprints behind us, and decide which ones we are willing to carry forward. In Igbo thought, endings are never final; they are bends in the road. What matters is not how loudly you announce the journey, but whether you are attentive to the path.
This year, I’m choosing attentiveness. And self-awareness.
What the Old Year Taught Me
The year behind us did not arrive with a syllabus, but it taught anyway. It taught me that growth is rarely linear, that clarity often comes disguised as confusion, and that community—real community—is built in ordinary moments, not grand gestures.
It reminded me that knowledge does not live only in books and seminars. It lives in stories overheard, in landscapes walked repeatedly, in the wisdom people pass on casually, as if it were nothing special. That kind of knowledge is easy to miss if you are always rushing toward the next milestone.
I missed some things. I learned others late. Both count.
What This Space Is Becoming
This blog has always been a place for thinking out loud—about people, places, memory, culture, and the small details that refuse to stay small. In the year ahead, I want it to be more intentional without becoming rigid.
Here, you’ll find:
- Reflections on culture, folklore, and everyday meaning
- Writing that moves between personal experience and collective memory
- Observations about place, belonging, and displacement
- Occasional detours—because detours are where the interesting stories live
This is not a blog about having everything figured out. It is a blog about paying attention.
No Resolution, Just Orientation
I am not making resolutions this year. I am choosing orientation instead.
Toward listening more carefully.
Toward asking better questions.
Toward writing that is honest rather than impressive.
Toward work that remembers where it comes from and who it is for.
If the year brings clarity, I’ll take it. If it brings uncertainty, I’ll learn how to sit with it. Either way, I intend to remain present.
An Invitation
If you are reading this, consider it an invitation—not to reinvent yourself overnight, but to notice what the world is already teaching you. Most importantly, carry forward what nourishes you.
The year has turned. The path continues.
Let’s walk it carefully.
I have time to write. School starts tomorrow so that we will return to short weekly poetic reflections. Say goodbye to January 1, 2026 — the year is already moving fast, as you can see! Have a pleasant night! Kachifonu, goodnight.
