2025 Wrapped
A chain of endless tides.
Life bypassed all forms of warnings and handed me 2025.
It should have told me that January to May would be the breeziest months, and I could have taken all my breaks for the year. I should have known it would be a survival era. Just breathing.
June came, and I lost my phone to men whose dark faces I can remember as clearly as daylight. An incident that shook and pushed me to be much more serious with my brand, take my headline headshots, and rebrand my LinkedIn profile.
I found love in July. Lost it. Pat myself on the back and moved on.
August came with over-dependence. My phone inked and I had to ‘live’ and read off my friends’ phones.
September was my “lock-in” month. The month of the year. I wrote my book to help writers like me. Achievers. I planned, strategized, and wrote down plans for my agency.
October gave me another iPhone, my first LinkedIn class and the launch of my book. Igniting the Fiction Flame.
2025 should have warned me. Perhaps come with a manual.
It could have warned me that I needed to attend my friend’s matriculation. That it wasn’t about the pictures that remain a constant reminder of my absence, but about the private inconvenience.
It should have reminded me to save for rainy days because my groceries always runs out just as the month does. In perfect synchrony. Only then do I call home, repeating the same endless list I did last month.
Perhaps, it should have nudged me to choose positivity over irritation because I wake up with the constant thought of spending money charging my devices. It should have told me to embrace tolerance and pragmatism because my new apartment would not be mine alone.
It might have prepared me to handle stress and situations differently rather than cutting off my friends.
It could have warned me that I would lose my spark and that writing blocks are completely normal. At least that’s what everyone says. I wallow in deep thoughts, asking myself when the relentless loop will ever end. Edit. Delete. Scrawl on my notepad, hate what I write, and scrawl some more.
It could have hinted that 2025 would be the year I chose being classy over being a baddie. The year I felt beautiful. The year I made the most memories. The year I lived. The year I yearned. Oh, the year I slayed. The year everyone mistook me for rich, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.
2025 was the year I questioned the true concept of friendship. The year I finally chose myself.
I’m popping a confetti to 2026. Let’s slay some more, mkayy?
I'm proud of you Chiquita
Many gave up where you said "One more try"
Let's go harder in 2026
Congratulations in advance
2026 would be an amazing year