At the beginning of this year, I sat down with two different friend groups.
The first sit-down was on the 3rd of January—a virtual call with dormer friends from college. We had all agreed to prepare a 5-minute presentation to serve as a visual aid as we shared a recap of the year.
As much as I enjoyed sharing the highlights of my own year, I found myself fully immersed in my friends’ recaps, thoroughly enjoying what felt like a variety show of sorts in my head.
While Oli was traveling the world, losing his phone on the ski slopes, and managing to go to classes in between, Thea was busy training to be a pickle-ball (quarterfinals!) champion while working as a lawyer on the side. Lance, who is also a pickle-ball athlete in his own right, made a huge career move. James, who appears to be on a mission to climb every summit in the Philippines, already has trips planned until—who knows—maybe 2026. Sam, a recovering perfume shopaholic, launched her own tea brand. Roy, in Singapore and still game to go anywhere with you (see you in Bali, Bai), is looking to take combat sports more seriously. And Kyle, now in San Francisco, is cutting his fingers off in the kitchen of some hot-shot restaurant.
As I listened to their stories, I got the sudden sense of being in media res—in the middle of things—as if the entire story of our lives began just now, like in most literature or films where the backstories are filled in later. Yet in reality, this is also true. Everyone is in the middle of their own story.
And as our little meeting went on, the clearer it was becoming that there is no getting “there,” there is only the next step, and the one after that.
It’s all process.
There is no “making it”; there is only making the most of it, while we’re in the middle of all this living.
We shared our goals for 2025, as well as some shows and movies we thought the rest of the group would find enjoyable. I relish in the gifts that are low-maintenance friends. From afar, I wish they find fulfillment in the pursuit of their goals.
The next day, on January 4, I had my second sit-down of the year—a crayfish and bullfrog dinner along Gui Street with some Filipino friends in Beijing. As is typical with these gatherings at the start of the year, the conversation spontaneously led to a round of sharing the past year’s highlights, similar to the day before.
After one full round, our friend Jhane asked, “Why do we only talk about the highlights? What about the ‘lowlights’? What did you guys struggle with this year?” We were all intrigued by this proposal.
So, we did a round of “lowlights” as well. We talked about the most difficult moments of the year and how we got through them. And I noticed that our answers on this second round were more thorough, thoughtful, and personal than the first. Perhaps because this is the part one would usually try to forget. Perhaps because these are the moments we would skip when crafting our year-end reels and carousels.
But the whole exercise reminded me that the lows are essential parts of the experience. If this truly is “all process,” the lows are unskippable parts of it.
Without them the highs aren’t high—they’re just average. Without them, there is no growth, there is no story. The process ends.
I realize as I write this that I am, at the moment, in a bit of a low point. I am grateful for this awareness. My hope is there is meaning to be found in it.