Selina Xu

I knew the first line; never could’ve guessed the ending. That’s my ode to 2023.

In January I had the desperate need to be made anew but was unsure of how. My life felt suspended in airport limbo, promised a flight without a departure date. At work, I discovered a greater sense of purpose as China’s reopening whiplash and the aftershocks of Covid Zero electrified my writing instincts, sparking stories on overwhelmed crematoriums, repurposed testing booths, and zero-dollar tourists.

In February and March, I started my markets rotation at Bloomberg, covering Asian stocks. On many evenings back from work I would lie facedown on the sofa, tears leaking out of my eyes no matter how I pressed them shut, and my mind furiously interrogating myself. Everything has value, and all shall pass, I told myself.

In April, I travelled to China for the first time since the pandemic, roadtripping across Yunnan from Dali to Shangri-la and visiting my grandparents in Sichuan and Guangdong over a few weeks of magic, reprieve, and revelations.

But in the first days of May came news that filled me with angry insurgency: I wanted to fly but was now a plane grounded on the tarmac indefinitely. Part of me was ready to drop everything and go teach at a rural village school in China as a volunteer; the desire to leave was overwhelming. Be patient; don’t jump the gun, I was told. Every day was a countdown on the precipice but indecision prevailed. When I turned 25 on the last day of the month, I’d never felt as lost on any other birthday prior: everything was in stasis, the future murky, and tinging it was the sense that I’d taken an irrevocably wrong path and there was no turning back.

In June, I spontaneously flew to Yogyakarta for my first solo trip, which calmed my restless heart and showed me that life can still be iridescent when you strip off all extraneous labels. Meanwhile, I ended my one-year rotation and began my permanent posting on the Asia Investing and Real Estate beat.

July and August were punctuated by sunkissed days in foreign towns: cycling down the stone paths of Hoi An and tearing up in Rehahn’s gallery; walking through Saigon in the rain with Kai Wen in our dyed fruit shirts and ducking into cafes with the most divine coffees; gazing out of the window on the Reunification Express at blue sea, slivers of sand and lethargic gulls, with Summer Ghost playing in my ear; cupping a firefly in my palms in the mangroves of Bintan, swaying on a boat with Xin Min, and releasing the glowing bug into the night sky like the embers of a wish.

Then came September. I wrote my biggest feature thus far at Bloomberg. And on the same day the story was published as The Big Take, I tendered my resignation. In less than a week, life lurched and accelerated, careening dizzily across tracks while switching gears. I packed up my bags, said my goodbyes, signed a lease before boarding the plane, and moved across continents back to America.

Since then, the past three months in New York have been no less unpredictable. I went through my first relationship and breakup, reunited with old friends and made new ones, got used to living completely by myself once more, and settled into a new job in a new industry.

Amid all the changing contexts, constant threads spliced together these reels: hours-long, meandering chats about life with my parents and friends over Facetime, in shared beds, on tennis courts and massage tables, over llaollao, kaya toast, bubble tea and cocktails; crying and smiling over a book on a plane or under blankets in the dead of the night; embracing solitude; falling in love with people, places and this world and its wonders over and over again; my perpetual, ever-evolving existential crisis that’s both blessing and affliction — after all, it has no cure.

Above all I’m grateful for the lessons 2023 gave me. There’s value in restraint, despite the potency of impulse. In waiting, I somehow unknowingly gained more in retrospect. Each prolonged day or week ended up bringing more fruition: I worked on pieces I was truly proud of, found more peace with my parents, recalibrated my desires, dug to the roots of my unhappiness, and realized that dilemmas were often fleeting constructs. What remains after the litmus test of time, battered and hardened, are truths I can hold close.

And perhaps, waiting is necessary when your abilities can’t sustain your ambitions, or when we’re too powerless to alter the larger geopolitical forces of our time (flecks in the river of history) — the only thing we can do is to beat on, boats against the current.

In the face of inertia, stability, or complacency, may my agency never get rusty. Leaving can be hard, especially when it’s disruptive to a mode of life and a trajectory I so ardently adored. May I never lose the reservoir of energy to start anew and, to quote a college professor, constantly reinvent myself.

To 2023, a year that began one way and ended another, I’m incredibly thankful. Thank you, God, for your hand in my life, for guiding me with your grace, love and strength through times of trial and joy alike, and gifting me with greater clarity and growth. To Mommy and Daddy, I love you most in the world. This past year wasn’t easy for me and no one knows that better than you both; thank you for standing by me, rooting for me, and reminding me to stay true to what I love even when I’m lost in the woods. And to friends, across oceans and cities, thank you for your inspiration, your generosity, for our shared tears and laughter. You make my life so much better.

Here’s to another crazy 2024 ❤️ Happy New Year!