Goodbye 2025, You Weird Little Gremlin
Look, I won’t lie to you. 2025 was chaos. Not the cute kind of chaos where someone spills glitter and we all cry-laugh while vacuuming for the next six months. No. It was grief-soaked, wine-stained, mascara-in-the-eyebrows kind of chaos. It was heartbreak, scattered ashes, more tears than there are litres in the Pacific Ocean, and jobs that made me question my will to live. At one point, I was working for a CEO who I’m convinced was either a lizard person or one of those demons that smells like sulphur and unpaid overtime. Either way, not ideal.
Add to that a sudden move back to Brisbane that hit like a freight train driven by fate herself (with an Etsy Witch riding shotgun), and I was left spinning. The only thing less present in my life than peace was romance. Not one kiss was kissed. Not one spark lit. Just me, my cat, and the void. If 2025 were a flavour, it would be warm white wine with a hint of disappointment.
But somehow, despite it all, I made it through. And you know what? That counts for something. Even if I spent part of it eating gluten-free BBQ shapes in bed while crying over that one song from Hazbin Hotel (you know the one). Even if I had to pack up my entire life in boxes that felt heavier than my emotional baggage. We did it. We got through. Just barely, but we’re here. We made it.
A Glimmer of Something Shiny (Hope? Delusion?)
2026 has already started on a brighter note. I’m moving into a new place that actually feels like mine. Not a temporary stopover, not a half-measure, not a stepping stone. A place with walls I can cry against and floors I can dramatically collapse on after a bad date. The energy is different. It feels like the beginning of something. Something that maybe doesn’t suck.
I’ve also rejoined the dating scene, which is chaotic in itself. Why do men still take photos with fish? Why do they all think standing next to a car makes them interesting? And why, in the name of all that is unholy, do they still say they’re looking for a woman who doesn’t take life too seriously? Babe. Life is serious. Have you seen rent prices in Brisbane?
But even with the dating app horrors and awkward small talk over lukewarm matcha, I’m kind of enjoying it. Not because I’ve met the love of my life* (I haven’t), but because for the first time in a while, I actually feel available. Not emotionally entangled. Not recovering. Not searching for someone to fill a void. Just open to possibility, chaos and all.
*I did go on one date in 2025 with a Scorpio I first met three years ago. It was promising for a hot second, but fizzled out quicker than my enthusiasm for dating profiles featuring dead fish. The Etsy Witch really tried his best with that one, bless him.
The Year of No Predictions
Now, I know you want me to make some kind of forecast for the next twelve months. You want a neat little list of things to expect. A tidy map. A horoscope, maybe. But I’m going to let you in on a secret: I have no bloody idea what’s coming.
If 2025 taught me anything, it’s that the Universe doesn’t care about our plans. It doesn’t care about our vision boards or our five-year strategies. It’s a bit of a gremlin, really. Pressing buttons and pulling levers just to see what we’ll do. One minute you’re lighting a candle for clarity, the next you’re relocating across the country and crying to your bestie via voice notes.
So no, I’m not predicting anything. I’m not manifesting anything either, not until Mercury finishes its next interpretive dance through the zodiac. I’m simply bracing myself, and choosing to laugh while I do it. If I’ve got to face another year of emotional whiplash, I might as well wear cute shoes while doing it.
Lessons from the Fire
Here’s what I do know: I’m not the same person who started 2025. Not even close. That version of me was hopeful in a way that bordered on naïve. She thought things were finally settling. That love could be easy. That the universe owed her a break. Bless her heart. She tried.
Now I’m sharper. Softer in some places, too. I’ve learned how to carry grief without letting it devour me. How to walk away from jobs that make me shrink. How to sit with myself in silence and not immediately try to fill it with noise. I’ve learned that starting over doesn’t mean you failed. It means you refused to stay stuck.
And most importantly, I’ve learned not to apologise for the chaos I bring. I’m a storm wrapped in a Matcha-scented blanket. I cry at adverts and ghost men who wear flip-flops to dinner. I’m doing my best, even when my best looks like a half-eaten tub of hummus and a text to my bestie that just says, “Halp.”
So, What New Hell Awaits Us?
Honestly? Probably something bizarre. Maybe your ex will pop up. Maybe we’ll all collectively decide to bring back low-rise jeans (no). Maybe you’ll get a new job or finally start that novel or move to a different city or fall in love with someone wildly inappropriate. Who knows? The chaos is coming either way.
What matters is how we meet it. I’m not going to pretend it’ll be easy, or cute, or fun all the time. But I am going to meet it with sass and softness (and stiletto’s) in equal measure. I’m going to wear ridiculous outfits and take selfies when I cry because, honestly, sometimes it helps. I’m going to trust myself. Even when everything feels wobbly.
So here’s to 2026. May it be the year we laugh too loud, cry in public, take up space, burn bridges, build better ones, kiss strangers, block exes, and live fully in all our messy, chaotic glory. I don’t know what hell awaits us, but babe, I know we’ll survive it. We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again.
And maybe, just maybe, this year we’ll get kissed.
We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity
If this post helped, inspired, or made you smile, you can support my work with a tea or tip over on Ko-fi. Every bit helps keep the chaos flowing.
Check Out My Other Forms
Discover more from Life & Style with Bry Jaimea
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
