I can say without a doubt that 2013 was a memorable year for me. It was a bitter sweet year.
Interestingly, a lot that happened seemed to happen in a timely fashion. I was, for the most part, emotionally and psychologically prepared for the twists and turn of my journey. Instead of drifting with events and trusting others or the Universe for a safe landing, I was standing behind the steering wheel, navigating my way through the decisions I was willing to make for myself.
One of the major decisions that I made was to change my surname. Shakespeare’s words stopped providing me with solace: this rose was simply in want of a different name. This is something that I cannot explain well to others, except perhaps to say, it was necessary.
In fact, I think all I have for most of the decisions I made are fanciful-sounding answers. But I am not fazed much about this. I take full ownership of these decisions—for better or worse, I cannot blame anyone for them.
Frankly, accepting that I am fully responsible for my decisions—and indeed happiness— was one hard truth I had to face. In part, because I wasn’t sure how I felt about embracing my third palindromic age. Unlike the previous two, I had serious concerns about my body. It was not only failing me, but in some ways, it was reminding me of the woes of being a woman and/or possessing a bleeding body.
Yes, it can suck to be a woman; but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I am a woman and will continue to be one, even if I don’t birth a child. This realisation is one of the gifts I got in 2013, as I pondered on whether I could legitimately sustain my choice to be child free.
In looking deep within and outside my being, I realised that motherhood doesn’t really scare me that much. I have seen many wonderful women, single and partnered, do it with grace to have the confidence to also do it—trusting, of course, that some of these women will be more than willing to help me overcome all forms of adversity and pressure associated with motherhood.
What truly scares me is wrapped in the question of conception, the ‘who’ part: who will share his genes with me? I haven’t really been lucky in the love department. It would seem for the longest time I lacked the recipe for having a fiery romance with a hint of freedom and autonomy.
I still don’t have the recipe. But I am hopeful. I am hopeful about the future and many other things. I am full of hope because I believe 2013 gave me an opportunity to close old wounds; ironically, through gaining a somewhat massive physical scar—a scar I hope to cherish forever.
On this hopeful note, I bid the year that was farewell. Goodbye 2013: adieu, adieu!
