DEAR 2025

 

Dear 2025,

If someone had told me at the start of the year what was waiting for me, I would have laughed, shrugged, and said, “Let’s see what happens.” Now, looking back, I can say that this year has been one of the most unpredictable, emotional, and beautiful chapters of my life. It gave me moments of peace, moments of disappointment, and moments of pride. It was a year that taught me to slow down, to keep moving, and to be grateful even when things did not go my way. It began with Montenegro. I did not have many expectations from that trip, but that was what made it so special. I remember standing near the Bay of Kotor with the calm water in front of me, and for a moment, it felt like everything around me had gone quiet. Montenegro has this rare charm, a kind of stillness that makes you forget about rushing. I walked through its narrow streets, watched the sunlight fall over the old stone buildings, and felt a kind of peace I had not felt in a long time. It was not the most adventurous trip, but it was exactly what I needed. That short break gave me clarity. I learned that sometimes you do not need big plans or grand moments to find meaning. Sometimes peace finds you when you stop searching for it.

After that calm came the storm of the Student Union elections. I had gone into it full of hope and energy. I wanted to make things better for students, to give something back to the university that had given me so much. The campaign days were intense but full of purpose. I was proud of how much effort I had put in, and I really believed we were making a difference. But life, as it often does, decided to test me. The disqualification came as a shock. It hurt deeply because it was more than just losing an election. It felt unfair, and for a while, I could not make sense of it. There were days I replayed the events in my head, trying to understand what went wrong. Eventually, I learned that sometimes life will not give you the ending you wanted, but it will give you the lesson you needed. That experience taught me what integrity truly means. It showed me that even when things fall apart, keeping your honesty and dignity intact is a quiet kind of victory. I did not win the position, but I won a new sense of strength.

Once I recovered from that disappointment, I decided I needed to clear my head again, and that is how Turkey entered my story. If Montenegro was quiet, Turkey was alive. From the moment I landed in Istanbul, I felt the city’s heartbeat. The noise, the smells, the people, the food, everything was bursting with energy. I spent my days getting lost in markets that sold everything from lamps to laughter. I drank tea so strong it could wake the dead, tried to bargain for souvenirs I did not even need, and watched the sunset from rooftops where the whole city glowed beneath me. And then came Antalya, a completely different kind of beauty. The water there looked unreal, as if someone had painted it fresh that morning. I remember sitting by the sea, letting the breeze wash away the leftover frustration from earlier in the year. In that moment, I realized that travel does not just change what you see; it changes how you see yourself. I returned from Turkey with a lighter heart, more laughter in my soul, and a reminder that joy does not always need to be chased. Sometimes it just shows up when you least expect it.

Couple of months after I returned, another big change arrived. I had to say goodbye to my pub job. That place had been my second home for so long that leaving it felt strange. The smell of beer, the clinking of glasses, the chatter that filled every corner, and the familiar faces of regular customers, it was all part of my everyday life. Working there taught me more about people than any book or course ever could. I learned how to stay calm when things got chaotic, how to read people’s moods, and how to make someone’s day better with a simple conversation. On my last day, I stood behind the bar for a few minutes after closing, just looking around. It was a simple place, but it held years of memories. I realized how much that job had shaped me. It was never just about pouring drinks or serving food. It was about connecting with people, about learning to listen, and about understanding that kindness often hides in small gestures. Walking out for the last time felt like leaving a piece of myself behind, but I also knew it was time to move forward. Then came one of the proudest moments of this year, starting my new office job. After everything that had happened, it felt like a turning point. My first week was a blur of learning, adjusting, and quietly trying not to look lost. The systems looked complicated, the reports endless, but there was a thrill in it. I felt challenged in the best way. Each day brought something new to learn, and slowly I started to find my rhythm. I began to see how my efforts mattered, how my skills were finally being put to good use. From the noise of the pub to the quiet focus of spreadsheets, the shift was big, but it made sense. The pub had taught me about people; this job taught me about precision, discipline, and growth. Somewhere between late nights at the bar and early mornings with data reports, I became someone I could be proud of.

Looking back, this year was far from perfect, but that is what makes it special. It had everything, peace, disappointment, adventure, and new beginnings. I learned that gratitude is not just about the good days. It is about being thankful even when things go wrong, because every setback carries a hidden gift. The election gave me resilience, the pub gave me people skills, Montenegro gave me peace, Turkey gave me joy, and my new office job gave me purpose. There were nights when I questioned myself, when I felt stuck or tired, when I missed home and family dinners. But even on those days, I tried to find small reasons to be grateful—a kind message, a quiet walk, a cup of tea after a long day. Gratitude is not always loud. Sometimes it is just the quiet feeling of knowing you are doing your best, even if nobody sees it. And of course, humour helped. British humour has a way of softening even the hardest moments. When I think of this year, I can almost hear the voice of one of my pub regulars saying, “Cheer up, lad, could be worse, you could be sober.” It is true, really. If you can laugh at life while it is testing you, you are already winning. Laughter carried me through the losses, the confusion, and the change. So here I am, almost closing this year with a full heart and a grateful smile. I did not get everything I wanted, but I got everything I needed. If life were a pub, I would raise a glass to this year and say, “Thank you for the lessons, the laughter, and the strength.” It was not always easy, but it was honest. And that is something worth celebrating. Cheers to that, and cheers to every moment that made this year unforgettable.