How the fucketh is one supposed to summarize or reflect on a year where my most frequently used phrase was: “I don’t know how to describe the feeling” – [.. then immediately proceeding to list off every feeling, including polar opposite adjectives, to describe the same thing]. I’ve been trying to land on something, anything, to sum it all up. And the best I’ve got is a little analogy:
2025 was kinda like the tortilla slap challenge for adults. Or, similarly, like the Kraft cheese singles for kids – where you whack ’em and brace for the response that hopefully warrants TikTok virality.
An attempt to explain the analogy:
In short, this past year ultimately felt like a slap in the face. But the kind of slap where I don’t know if I should laugh or cry in that moment. Or laugh so hard I cry. Or cry so hard I laugh. I think there’s something cute about the intersection of laughing and crying. They can exist as mutually exclusive, or they can become an intertwined web of an indescribable emotion. If you get a fastball thrown at you via tortilla or a Kraft cheese slice, ultimately you’ll forgive, survive… though not forget that moment (especially because it’s now flooded all over TikTok and settled in your camera roll).
2025 taught me to embrace impermanence. And kinda tempted me to get a TBD permanent tattoo that resembles just that. I’m really trying to avoid the clichés we all already hear and know too well: change is scary and change can be a good thing. This year changed the trajectory of my future in the most terrifying way I never imagined I could handle. Honestly, there are moments I still question if I can. But then I remember the personal growth that changed me too.
Idk, there’s something about the term growing pains that maybe we don’t read the way we should. We read it as a phrase, as a noun. But what if we split it into a noun + verb? Growing pains. Growing fucking hurts sometimes. Growth can be good. It can also feel like a fckn struggle to get there.
My best friend doesn’t ruminate on New Year’s resolutions, and I really respect that. Instead, they choose one word for the year… so I’m replicating their ways here.
My word for 2026: iterative.
Try. Fail. Iterate. Learn. Fail again. Rinse, reuse, repeat.
You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll laugh so hard you cry. You’ll cry so hard you’ll laugh.
… and somehow, you’ll still survive the slap.
2026 here we go, my friend!
Hawaiian Princess Pieces 