Hopes for a New Year 🎆 新年愿望 by Nan Qu
English text follows the Chinese Text
Hopes for a New Year
On one of the last few days of 2016, my bestie and I sat side by side at a Chinese restaurant in the Lower East Side, writing our New Year’s resolutions on napkins. One of mine was to learn all four styles of swimming. And something about volunteering at an animal shelter. I did neither in the following year. It was not surprising as I never took pride in pushing myself. But I found it mildly funny that none of the resolutions on my napkin reflected my true fears back then: me equating my identity to a job I hated and feeling trapped and seeing no way out. Now, seven years later, I could swim in all four strokes, was a proud mama of an adopted puppy, and put a pause on a career that I felt was eating my life away. I guess that was what New Year’s resolutions were for: to remind people of the power of intentions, the ones you couldn’t wait to be showy about, and also the ones that only started to brew in the form of anxiety.
When I first adopted my dog Bailee, it would happen almost daily that I felt life was complete when I looked over my shoulder and found Bailee sleeping on her side, all stretched out, her belly rising and falling in almost imperceptible motions. I wondered what else I could ask from life, in those snapshots that seemed to contain everything life had to offer: the present. In another year of rat races I willingly signed up for, and amidst the joy of getting and angst of losing, I wish to have more of those moments, an unconditional satisfaction.
One of the boys I dated this year described me as idealistic. I doubt he meant it as a compliment, but if he did, it was too generous. Dreams, however grand, get mundane in their execution. Details and people that could make or break me in mysterious ways steal so much of the spotlight that I often wonder if it is still my stage. Many times I resorted to saying that writing was “to take a break.” Or worse, I see writing as a new identity, something that represents me “better.” I feel so self-serving. I don’t deserve to be called idealistic. In 2024, I want the faith that drives me to be blinder, from all the analyses of probabilities and lists of pros and cons. I want to get raw with my feelings and exact with my words, and when I grieve, I want all humanity to feel my pain.
I have done a handful of things I was not so proud of in 2023, like busying myself with everything else other than writing, and behaving like a really insecure person in dating when I am only somewhat insecure. I see a resemblance in me seven years ago, who aspired to master swimming within a year at a time when mastering my life appeared hopeless. It was and still is fear whispering in my ear, urging me to do things that I know are insignificant or even wrong to regain a sense of control. Fear is inevitable, whether legitimate in the face of ambiguity or inherited from questionable parenting. In a new year, I want to learn to co-exist better with fear, to acknowledge its presence but deny it power. After all, I am here to have a good time, not to triumph over the voices that argue I can’t.
I guess my list of resolutions goes against the most important rule of goal setting: be specific. I have that list too, which starts with something like “Exercise every day.” New Years are like birthdays; you will get tired of it one day as you age or become cooler. They are just ornaments to life, which, in its essence, restarts every moment. So congratulations on making it, and see you at the next one. The past is under your belt, and the rest has only just begun.
About the author Nan Qu 作者简介：
“I was born and raised in Qiqihar, a lovely city in northeastern China. I moved to the states in my early twenties to further my accounting education and stayed in the field for nearly a decade in New York City. I recently started writing as a creative outlet and a potential new beginning. I love the city, dogs, my dog Bailee, four seasons at their finest, my awesome friends including this gem who gave me a spot to shine on her website, little things in life, and being sassy and quirky. I want to capture their charm truthfully and share my appreciation with you, through words. I wish they lighten your day like the many other things you click, swipe and scroll. Except we have a bigger mission here. I am grateful to have experienced life through two of the most beautiful languages, English and Chinese. You deserve that opportunity too. I hope these light-hearted bilingual stories can do their part to not only provide you with some pure joy of reading, but also create a window for you to peek into the Chinese culture, learn about the language, and get to know the people behind it.
For inquiries about the stories, reach out to nan.qu.nyc@gmail.com and check out more of my writings on hernameisbailee.com".