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Another rider joins the Lyft pool. Now I might be late for my date. “Mustafa?” the new rider asks. “Yes. Melissa?” Wait a minute, I think. I’m on my way to meet a Melissa. “Melissa?” I say. “Yes?” she replies. “It’s Erik.” She doesn’t put two and two together. Awkward silence ensues. “Oh, you’re actually going to the same place,” says Mustafa. “Really? Why are you going there?” Melissa asks. “Uh, I think I’m going on a date with you,” I say. Mustafa laughs. We join in. I feel briefly hopeful that, despite apps and algorithms, serendipity still exists.

I'm not really sure why hours before New years I get emotional. Thinking about all the has beens, could've beens, the times I've waisted. The times I've made so much progress yet nothing to show for it at all. It all gets to be a few hours before. To think I'll do it all again, I'm not sad about it, if anything it should be something to be proud of, even if others can't see our battles. But I know I could do better. And that's the thing, when am I going to stop holding myself back? I say every year, but nothing changes. Maybe it's a lack of will power, or the fact on the outside it seems like I'm getting no where. It all sort of gets to me, and I know I am only one person. Good things take time, but it seems like I never have the time to make it good. Yet I've waisted so much of it at the same time? Does anyone relate? Anyway, Happy New Year all. I hope we can all do something that makes us look back and be proud this year. Best of luck to you all in your individual journeys.

Journal — 5:04 AM Thursday, January 1st, 2026 Happy New Year 2026. I am still 24. — Mushk Entry 5 AM feels like a doorway. Not open, not closed — just waiting for me to decide what kind of person I am becoming. The world is quiet in that strange New Year way, where even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. And here I am, awake before the sun, writing my name like a promise. Still 24.Still learning how to hold myself without shrinking. Still choosing softness without letting anyone mistake it for weakness. Still carrying fire without letting it burn me from the inside. There’s something beautiful about starting a year in the dark like the universe is giving me a blank page before the light arrives. A chance to write myself into the day before the day writes itself onto me. I don’t know what this year will bring. But I know what I’m bringing into it: A spine made of boundaries. A heart that refuses to apologize for feeling deeply. And a name — Mushk — that I’m finally claiming without regret If this is the first sentence of my year, then let it be this: I am here. I am becoming. And I am not done yet.