I have never really liked holidays... never really truly. Because I had an awful family, holidays were only good for not having school and, well, trying to run about partying (hopefully for free, because I'm poor). When I got married to the person who I am quite fond of, most of the time, and love all the time, I am astounded at the transformation of holidays... of it being about family, and being jolly appreciative of being part of a family, which is to say highy un-sev like. It was NOT nice. At least not all the time. It's like being an alien, or bacteria, or someone incredibly awkwardly diseased.

I am feel like an ill-fit for this picture; I am incredibly grateful. But extremely ill-fit, and anxious. A family, how weird to have something resembling a good one. And I miss my own, you know, my mother who nagged, who never really liked anything I did, do, doing, my brothers who were leaps and bounds better than me, who rubbed it in my face that I was dumb, and that household with grimy, disgusting linoleum floors where I have received abuse, physically, mentally, emotionally. That household that crippled me which now makes me this emotional invalid who get social anxiety, who wish to be a rock instead of human so I don't have anymore feelings and dreams and reoccuring nightmares. I want to be a rock. I miss my family, of blood ties.

Most of the time, when I sit with my habbu who is most of the time wonderful, I wonder how much of a cheat I am in the game of life. And until how long do I keep him before some divine intervention happens and he gets snatched away because I don't deserve him. I don't.

How do I start the year? Should I paint what I want in words, like how I want to live my life? Is that how optimism go? I want to be happy. Everytime someone greets me Happy New Year, I kind of wish for the same. Sincerely, like I have never had before. True happiness. I want to write more, possibly find that courage to actually try and submit something for publication. I want to start writing my novel. I really do. And I want a new job in communications, in publishing and editing. I want to be a published writer someday. And then maybe, someday, I wish I can be that person who thinks I deserve my husband, before he realizes that isn't true, and that I want to tell him, "You can be whatever you want to be," like he did when we were twenty... and I want him to believe me and then I want to live my life as a person who reciprocates... because I finally learned how.

Foremost, Happy New Year. To me. To You, whoever you are.