Reflections and Birthdays A Year in Review

It’s my birthday today as I write this post. In just four days, it’ll be 2025. Twenty twenty-four was many things—a leap year, a year of economic recovery, political excitement, and for me personally, a year of fitting into my shiny new shoes in Australia.

The year started beautifully, surrounded by people I love and care for. I was still in India then—naïve and wide-eyed. I’d been to Sydney before, but only for five months, a kind of honeymoon phase. This time felt different, real. I knew I wouldn’t be back for another year, so making the most of it was essential. January was a whirlwind of love and connection. It felt like my personal Rushmore—I was Max Fisher, life was Rosemary Cross, and for one glorious month, we danced in slow motion with Ohh La La as our outro. (Side note: fantastic song, fantastic movie. Give it a go!)

February hit like a dump truck. Long flights never agree with me, and this time I barely survived. I forgot to book the free taxi, ended up on a 40-minute metro ride, lost my house, and drifted from some friends. Life in Sydney kicked off with orientation freebies and a fresh start.

March marked my academic comeback. After two semesters of mostly project-based work, I was determined to conquer reports and essays. It was a year of academics, work, and a little play when the universe allowed it. The months that followed? Uneventful, even from my own first-person perspective.

I sometimes cry thinking about how I left my passions behind—cinema, music, painting, cats, nature, vibrant things. I can't complain; those sacrifices bore results. But was that the right way to go? Probably not.

One highlight: I earned my first dollar. I spent it frivolously, learned to save, and also learned how dumb I could be with money. I grew up. I traveled, not as much as I’d hoped, but enough. Blue Mountains hikes in the rain taught me my lungs are not made for mountains. Beach trips reminded me of my self-consciousness about my body—but one day, I swear, I’ll dive into those waves.

I ventured out solo too—Lithgow, Dee Why, Epping, and countless suburbs. These moments were soundtracked by ABBA's Chiquitita as I reflected on changes I loved and hated. It was a solid 7/10 year in my eyes.

Semester strikes brought academic disappointment, but at least summer arrived with new people and places. Summers were average but memorable. I met a new roommate, a nice fellow who reminded me of my own excitement when I first arrived. We explored, worked on projects, and binged shows—including a Korean drama that absolutely wrecked me emotionally. (Never watch rom-com K-dramas during lonely phases—they’re cursed!). Lesson learned.

The next semester brought determination to avenge my academic honor. It was the dullest stretch of time I can remember—no movies, no art, barely any music (okay, maybe a bit). I became a workaholic, a version of myself I despise. The thought of blending into the crowd, of being “just Srijan,” terrified me. Life became too boring even for me, a filmmaker in spirit who sees life as a movie. That phase? A snooze-fest. I vow never to repeat it.

This year lacked books, colors, and vibrance. I left behind my teenage years—the carefree days of dumb love and fewer responsibilities. I even got gray hairs. I'm old AF now!

As I celebrate my birthday today, I wish for more color, art, and exploration next year. It wasn’t a bad year—it was filled with love, fun, and lessons. But I’m ready for more creativity and joy. Here's to learning and living even more fully in the year ahead.

Happy New Year! 🎵Insert this song