As a young boy, I was excited by the end of the year. Arguably because of the optimism that the promise of a new year presents. As a child, raised by a single mother, we had a lot of rules at home.  We were required to spend New Year’s Eve in the presence of God-in a church building. The logic of entering the New Year in such a spiritual place is undeniable and I liked it. Not because it was a Christian ritual but for the opportunity, to watch glorious fireworks at the stroke of midnight, in the heart of Kampala.

I also believed my mother’s words that starting the year in a mystical setting like church set one up for a successful year. “You would rather enter the new year in church than in a bar.” She often said. I understand that spending the night praying is an act of thanksgiving and devotion, but I still struggled, (at least theologically) to establish the link between loud overnight prayer sessions and the likelihood of a prosperous year.  Of course, I am no longer under the full direction of my mother-I have the luxury to choose where I enter the new year from. But even if I wanted to attend a thundering prayer night, the curfew restrictions would not allow me this year.

Still, we can’t run away from the opportunity that a new year gives us- to turn a new page. In crossing over to 2021, I was grateful to have gone through the infamous 2020. That year, as cynically remarked, was the COVID-19 year- it changed everyone’s life, literally. Almost in equal significance, it led us to change the abbreviation of BC, to Before COVID. 2020 was an odd year. That year alone, I had four COVID-19 nasal sticks dipped down my nose to ascertain whether I was well. In addition to the paranoia, I got whenever I caught any flu or sat next to someone coughing. Many friends and family were affected by the virus. I even became a pseudo-existentialist- thinking deeply about the meaning of life and death.

Therefore, going into 2021, I was at the very least hopeful.  I began the year only praying that it would be better than 2020. Deep down, I also convinced myself that it couldn’t get any worse.  But, nothing much changed this year.  We had another lock down midway the year. I had two COVID-19 scares. I lost one of my closest friends (Sam) [read his tribute here].   I was numbed and stained. Recently, Facebook shared a memory from eight years ago when I took a picture with Sam. Seeing us together created a void in my heart.  Aaron Ben-Ze’ev writes that our grief over the loss of a loved one resonates constantly, colouring our moods, our demeanour, and the way we relate to time and space. Now, this my life and reality. I have learnt that change is uncomfortable but inevitable. It may come through the loss of family, friends, personal relationships and death. These things happen to us and we have to take on that reality. I guess, as Kevin Tobia comments on change, “these changes seem to unearth our core selves, making us become who we really are”.