Today, we bid farewell to another decade.
This year was much like a season of relentless storms. Harsh, unforgiving, and filled with lessons I never expected to learn. It taught me that standing tall against every storm isn't always a sign of strength. Sometimes, we must learn to bend with the wind. Sometimes, we must fall before we can find the strength to rise again. And for everything this year has taught me, I am grateful.
At the beginning of the year, I had wishes, just like everyone else. I sent my hopes out into the universe with unwavering optimism. This will be my year. I'll be successful. I'll exercise more. I'll accomplish everything I've been dreaming of. Yet almost none of those plans came to life.
I entered 2019 with extraordinary expectations, only to watch them crumble around me. What followed would become a turning point in my life. I was tested by my health, by distance and longing, by love, and by everything I thought I understood about it. Eventually, I collapsed. And for a while, I stayed there. It felt like the weight of the entire universe had settled upon my shoulders. Getting back up seemed impossible.
So, what did I do? I let it happen. I stopped fighting the weight and allowed myself to feel its full force. I accepted that, for the moment, I couldn't carry it anymore. But acceptance wasn't defeat. It was the moment I finally understood that everything in life is temporary. Nothing, not even the darkest storm, lasts forever.
Instead of struggling to stand like a mighty oak against the wind, I chose to become a reed. I allowed the storm to bend me, to push me toward the earth, knowing that bending didn't necessarily mean breaking. And eventually, the wind grew quiet. I was still bowed beneath the weight of everything I'd endured, but unlike the oak, I hadn't shattered. With the first rays of sunlight, I slowly found my way back to my feet.
Around this very time, the third book in my Anka Series, Kül (Ashes), was published. The timing felt far too meaningful to be a coincidence. On its pages, I wrote: "Don't be afraid to rise from your ashes again." And the truth is, I wrote those words because I was terrified. Terrified of turning to ashes. Terrified of having to rise again. Afraid in ways that no number of pages could ever fully express.
But eventually, I learned to accept it. The moment I stopped resisting the burdens on my shoulders, they began to feel lighter. The moment I stopped fighting everything that had happened, something inside me changed. I realized that I had spent much of my life resisting. Whenever something went wrong, whenever life took an unexpected turn, whenever I faced something painful or unfair, my first instinct was to fight against it. But all that resistance had never changed what had already happened.
This year, I learned to let go. That doesn't mean I no longer feel sadness or disappointment. Of course I do. But instead of fighting those emotions, I allow myself to experience them. I give myself permission to grieve, to hurt, and to heal. And afterward, I find the strength to move forward. Although perhaps strength isn't quite the right word. Resilience. Because I've come to believe that true strength lies in our ability to bend without breaking.
I am grateful for the lessons this year brought me, even the painful ones. It took time to understand them, but I began to recognize that not everything happens according to my plans. Sometimes, what I want may not be right for me, or perhaps the time simply hasn't come. I learned that sadness is part of being alive. That allowing myself to feel it doesn't make me weak. And that fighting my own emotions only leaves me more exhausted.
Above all, I learned that an ending is never necessarily the end. Sometimes, it is simply an invitation to begin again. Yes, this year I was reduced to ashes. But I rose again.
And so, for 2020, I have only one wish. Health and peace. I'm not asking for love, happiness, or success. Not because I no longer desire those things, but because I've learned that desperately holding on to expectations can sometimes prevent me from appreciating the life unfolding before me. I want to trust myself, trust the journey, and believe that if I continue doing everything within my power, the things meant for me will find their way into my life.
2019 brought me to my knees, but it also taught me the value of peace. And what do I want from 2020? Nothing extraordinary. Just life itself.
Happy New Year.
