the aggressive seriousness of being alive

“your life unfolds in proportion to your courage”

I change the font to Times New Roman and the font size to 14 before I begin typing anything, it is a type of ritual. Maybe it’s a fontamental need for structure, or maybe I just like the way it serifs my thoughts. Either way, I only said it to avoid starting this letter with what I’m about to say now.

Fuck, it’s a new year!

I want to stretch the word into a scream, line it with infinite k’s until it cracks the silence open. But already, guilt nips at my heels. I shouldn’t curse anymore. I have linguistically spiritual aspirations now. My tongue yearns to become sweet…holy. My entire existence craves an unfolding. Every cell articulately aches for something higher, better, softer. I want to be very serious about being alive.

And yet, the old version of me - who I’m gently trying to shed, clings tightly to her comfort. She is trembling, afraid of the sharpness of her desires. She wants to stay buried under blankets, siphoning dopamine from half-dreamed fantasies, wrapped in the seductive luxury of not hurting. But I am tugging at her gently. I am whispering that the ache of trying is duller than the ache of regret. That pain and joy share the same weight and I am strong enough to hold both.

Tiffany Brown (2024)

This year feels different. I know, I know. It sounds cliché, hollow and ordinary. But how do I explain it to you? How do I transcribe a feeling into language? It’s like translating rain into words, or music into numbers. Clumsy and slow.

Still, I’ll try: I’ve been reckless. A deliberate recklessness, though. I tossed caution into a wormhole and let myself come alive in small, wild ways. I pierced my ears a second time. I weaved my hair in a hue that catches the light. I wrote my vision for 2025 in November of 2024 because I refused to let time hold my waist. Time is a graceless partner with no patience to match my rhythm. I left her behind on the dance floor. She is a construct. I am real.

And now I’m here, calm and breathing, musing over this moment. I know the year will hurl its stones at me. But this time, I will not run. My faith is my shield, and my exhaustion is my fuel. I am very tired of retreating. My bones have cracked in thousand places under the weight of the life I have not lived. This burden is not mine to carry anymore.

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What’s on my bookshelf:

What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky by Lesley Nneka Arimah: Yipee, first book of the year. This left me feeling torn. I'm not usually a fan of short story collections, which might explain why I did not fully connect with it. Still, I did enjoy a few standout stories like "Light" and "Glory". I wished to the heavens I had a book buddy to discuss the characters with!

Seven Days in June by Tia Williams: This has completely consumed me and now I can’t get anything done save from fangirling the character, Shane. The story revolves around two authors who exchange cryptic messages through their novels after a past falling out. I'm hooked on the romance, witty humour, and beautiful writing. I've been highlighting non-stop and might just end up colouring the entire book!

That’s it guys. I wish you the best of everything brilliant, true and noble every single day of the world. Happy New Year.