First Month of the Year

I have always believed that the first month of the year sets the tone and mood for the months that follow. That’s why I make a conscious effort to speak and act in ways that foster peace and positivity, both for myself and those around me. As we step into February, I find myself reflecting on how the first month of the year unfolded. And what better way to reflect than to put pen to paper and capture the essence of January’s moments?

The year kicked off with a bang in my professional life, and I’ve never been so busy or immersed in academic work. While it meant sacrificing holidays, it also gave me the invaluable opportunity to explore and learn something entirely new. I spent countless hours researching and reading literature related to my assignments. There were moments when I felt tempted to give up, but the stubborn side of me refused to give in. I found myself drowning in an overwhelming sea of readings, each one leaving me more confused than the last. Despite the challenges, the satisfaction of pushing through and expanding my intellectual horizons made it all worthwhile. I stepped far outside my comfort zone, and looking back on the academic work I’ve done, I’m certain that this year holds even more opportunities for professional growth. I live by the philosophy: “Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” Learning is a lifelong journey, and I enthusiastically embrace it each day.

Though I take great pride in my professional accomplishments, I can’t help but feel a twinge of regret for not having devoted more time to my family, especially my parents. While others were spending time with loved ones, I found myself lost in the complexities of academic work. There were days when I realized I hadn’t spoken to anyone except myself for hours—sometimes, not even a word aloud. It was unsettling to come to the realization that I had essentially become isolated, detached from the world. As soon as it struck me, I immediately called my mom. Reflecting on those days, I’m grateful to the Almighty for keeping me safe and sound, but I still shudder at the thought of living a life of isolation.

I’m not an extrovert by nature; in fact, I’m more of an introvert. I cherish my alone time and often prefer it to socializing. I’m more inclined to party with my books than with people, and most nights, you’ll find me reading with either a bottle of beer or wine, depending on my mood. Living alone has made me resilient and content in my own company, and I’ve come to appreciate the strength that comes with solitude.

Readers often lead a solitary life, as choosing the company of books over people is a natural part of the lifestyle. My goal for this year is to read 70 books, and so far, I’ve completed 15 in the first month alone. I’ve been reading as though my life depends on it. The reason for such dedication is simple: I want to stay in sync with my reading rhythm, not allowing any breaks in the flow. Half of my monthly salary goes toward buying books, and if I find my bookshelf empty, I panic. It’s as though I need an emergency stock of unread books to feel secure.

The one thing I’ll leave behind when I’m gone will be those cherished books—my babies. The books on my shelf aren’t just books; they are my treasures. And parting with them? That’s the one thing that would truly break my heart. Every morning, I take a few moments to stand before my bookshelf, admiring the collection. I spend my free time cleaning, organizing, and decorating my bookshelf, treating it with the reverence it deserves.

In addition to reading, I make it a point to encourage others to develop the habit of reading. I lend books to friends with a gentle warning to take good care of my "babies," but despite my best efforts, I often fail to convince others. Still, I won’t give up. I’ll continue to encourage people to read, even if my success rate is low.

It’s been almost seven years since I started my journey as a working woman, and for the first time, I find myself back at square one. I’m living in an empty house with no furniture—something I never imagined would happen. While there’s a sense of pride in giving away old furniture to my siblings, it’s still unsettling to walk into an empty home. It feels incomplete like something is missing. But I’ve decided to start over, one step at a time.

I could probably live without any furniture, but at times, the emptiness of the house gives it an eerie, almost haunted vibe. Yet, spending a month in this bare space has taught me how to find contentment in nothingness. There’s a strange peace that comes with not owning anything, and it has sparked a sense of non-attachment to the material world.

As I look ahead, the focus for the year is clear: to gradually furnish the house with what’s necessary. That is if I can spare a bit after my constant book purchases.

For the next eleven months, I hope to stay busy with my work, dive into countless books, and find happiness in everything I have. The first month has been one of a kind, and I feel truly blessed to be living such a wonderful life.