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Sawubona. It's 2017 and I'm still alive. You are too. We are still here. Today, I am 25. The older I get, the more I realise how I seemingly didn't imagine being much older than 21. Okay, when I was 14, I wanted to have a TV show by the time I was 22. But that was about it.

2016 was not a good year. Tbh, at this point, I don't know what good years look like, or how they feel. But the years I've been having are absolutely not how I want good years to feel. 2016 was not my worst year: I kept a job, I paid my rent, we ate at an almost-normal frequency, we moved. Mphiwe and I even started our (very) infrequent movie outings. There were instances of restorative (moments that kept me rolling out of bed in the morning) comfort.

But it was a heavy year. I was tired all through it. I was anxious and my depression always seemed just under the surface, threatening to burst through. Flooding everything. 2016 was me constantly re-sealing the floodgates and blotting away and cleaning up the mini-floods. To me, this is a positive. 2016 was also the year I began truly assessing my feelings and moods: is this a "normal" feeling? Is it the depression? If so, what is the key message, how do I stop making things my depression tells me gospel? Where am I on my menstrual cycle?

Also, it's okay to not be cheerful. I have to forgive myself for the things I think in darkness. So I cried until I had had my fill, I passive aggressed, and immediately regretted it. So I apologised. I slept when sleep came and woke up the latest I could get away with. I sought out my sister and listened to her stories. We laughed, I'm pretty sure we cried too. Things didn't completely go according to (my vague) plan. Still, I got out of bed.

As far as writing is concerned, especially on this blog, I didn't do as much as I wanted to. I have said that for the past four years, at least, but it felt most true in 2016. I have drafts and ideas and lists. Sometimes, I wonder who cares. Other times I write. I hit publish. My world does not end. Even though I did not write as often as I meant, I found a sort of manifesto. I don't want anyone to get any sort of life thirst from this space. From what I share or even my existence. And other ideas. Because real life got too real (I'm talking about work here) I feel I finished my blogging year abruptly. Hopefully, there will be more planning and mapping this year.

In other writing, I left far too many fiction pieces unfinished. I want to get better at finishing. I want to follow my stories to their natural ends.

Happy kancane kancane* 2017. Let's do what we can when we can.

*Bit by bit