A Toast (2019)

It’s a bit difficult for me to think about 2019 in large, let alone the entire decade. But I’ll try and hopefully not spend too much time writing about it all. And, perhaps the biggest deal of the decade, was going to university. It marked a departure from the things I thought I knew while living in London, and it opened me up to a far larger host of peoples and ideologies than I had even thought possible. It also marked the point where my mental health went into a death spiral, and for a time it was difficult to even consider getting out of bed.

But through that pain, I’m certain I’ve learned a thing or two. I’m still not all the way good, and I don’t think I’ll ever be – but that’s okay, because life is a journey, not a destination. You’ll never be perfect, but you can get better, always. Even in death, our journey doesn’t end: our deeds, for better or for worse, will live on in the memories and actions of those we’ve touched. Memories of starlit nights speaking to your best friend until it got too cold to sit outside. The first time you hear someone tell you that they love you. The pride of watching a loved person reach new heights, and sharing their joy. They’re all simple emotions on the outside, but if you’ve experienced it, you know how it feels. The dark times always teach you a lesson of sorts, whether it be about your own actions, the unjust state of society, or the depths of cruelty that others can display.

This decade has also been quite the one of loss. Certainly, people die all the time: as rational beings, we know that the our moves on with or without us. But death, in my opinion, is always an abstract thing that grows ever more real, ever more concrete, the closer that death happens to you. This year I lost an uncle, and a man that I grew up to consider my uncle. I think my biggest failure in both cases was to reach out, and get to know them better. And I think it too served as a reminder: everything has an expiry date. All things end one day, and every day the telling of a legend is spoken by a pair of lips one last time. The love you feel for someone, your hate – it all comes to an end.

Which returns us to the here and now: what will you do? What will I do? It’s easy to say “make the most of the time you have now”. And perhaps the statement has lost its impact, as it’s so easy to get jaded from the day-to-day interactions, the onslaught of horrible news by at home and abroad, the echoing complications wrought by the actions of humans past. But truly, I think the thing to do is simply feel what you must feel. Feel your anger, and channel it into something useful. Let your sorrow remind you of what’s important in life. Love those who you will love, but remember that what’s best for them might not be what’s best for you. And, most importantly, always look out for the oppressed; the marginalised, those unduly at risk of violence. Do your best and strive to be better.

Here’s a toast to those we’ve lost – your memories live on inside us. You are never truly gone.

Here’s a toast to those history has forgotten – your legacy may be forgotten, but your acts still resonate in us.

Here’s a toast to our friends, family, and those we may not speak to any longer – you are loved, and we believe in you.