A New Year’s monologue of sinks and survival

31st December, evening. The world was preparing to embrace the happiest New Year—cheers, fireworks, and promises of fresh starts filled the air. Outside, the celebrations roared. Inside my kitchen, I was preparing for a peaceful dinner and a quiet New Year’s Eve. After all, I had office the next morning.

But then, my kitchen sink decided to rebel like a disgruntled political leader.

Water began to rise in the basin—at first slowly, like a creeping issue you think you can ignore. Then, suddenly, it was as though a floodgate had been flung open, water cascading over the edge.

It felt like the universe was handing me one last lesson for 2024: even when everything seems under control, life finds a way to remind you that things can still spiral out of hand.

My New Year’s resolution? “Stay calm in the chaos”. The sink gurgled defiantly, putting that resolve to the test within hours. The kitchen sink—like inflation, like the political landscape, like my career—was refusing to follow any predictable pattern.

2024 had been the happiest yet most chaotic year for me. Motherhood brought immense joy, but also a flood of responsibilities that tested my tolerance, endurance, and strength. The year felt like a juggling act with too many pins in the air.

My grand plans for New Year’s Eve included a warm cup of tea, quiet resolutions, and maybe even a reflective journal entry on 2024—a year of challenges, change, and cautious optimism. But as the clock struck midnight, my immediate resolution shifted to “fix the sink.” Desperately, I wished for a plunger.

Little did I know, this sink fiasco would set the tone for 2025—a year that, like the sink, seemed ready to demand patience, effort, and a sense of humor.

Funny how small moments can reflect bigger truths. That clogged sink wasn’t just a household inconvenience; it mirrored the blockages we face personally, nationally, and globally.

We stepped into 2024 with the echoes of 2023 still reverberating—political transitions, soaring inflation, and a collective sense of uncertainty. The new regime promised “new beginnings,” but like the water in my sink, the system has yet to flow smoothly.

2024 was a year brimming with chaos, shadow wars raging in various corners of the world, and the constant dueling of big powers fueling global unrest. The world watched in horror as reports of civilian deaths in Palestine dominated the news. Heart-wrenching images of children injured or killed by Israeli forces spread across social media, shaking humanity to its core.

In Bangladesh, a seismic political shift added to the turbulence. After 16 years of iron-fisted rule, Sheikh Hasina, the country’s long-time authoritarian leader, fled amidst a mass uprising that brought people from all walks of life to the streets. The uprising, a culmination of years of suppressed frustrations and simmering tensions, marked a historic turning point for the nation.

The chaos—global and local—felt like too much to take all at once. It was overwhelming, forcing everyone to pause and question where the world was heading.

And inflation? That’s a clog no plumber can fix. Prices for essentials have risen so steeply that grocery shopping feels like preparing for an Olympic event. You weigh your options carefully, strategize your moves, and hope you make it out of the store with your wallet intact. Meanwhile, daily essentials are approaching gold-standard pricing, and I’m considering opening a black-market business in cooking oil.

Then there’s the personal “career clog.” While opportunities feel like distant stars, and everything moves slower than traffic during Dhaka’s rush hour. It’s like waiting for a clogged sink to drain—you know it will happen eventually, but the delay can make you question your entire life plan.

In 2024, this sense of professional blockage feels universal. Friends are either overworked in jobs they do not love, endlessly applying for roles that ghost them, or stuck in positions where “growth” is just another buzzword for doing more work without more pay.

But clogged sinks—and life—force you to pause. Standing there, towel in hand, I realised not everything can be fixed immediately. Sometimes, you just have to wait. Let the water settle, give the drain time to clear, and trust that things will work out eventually.

On New Year’s Eve, knee-deep in a metaphor, I pondered inflation, career frustrations, and the state of the nation while trying to unclog my kitchen sink. If that is not adulthood in a nutshell, I do not know what is.

My biggest lesson this year? Embrace the waiting game. It is difficult, but sometimes all you can do is wait—whether it is for a clogged kitchen sink to clear or a systemic overhaul to materialise.

As we step into 2025, let’s not pretend all our sinks will suddenly drain perfectly. The world’s blockages—literal and metaphorical—will persist. Politicians will keep making empty promises, inflation will tighten wallets, and careers will continue circling the same loop.

So here is to the uncloggers, the dreamers, and the accidental plumbers. To everyone who makes do when the world feels too clogged to function.

May your drains be clear, and your spirit always ready to flow.

Happy New Year, Bangladesh. Let’s unclog 2025 together.

* Farjana Liakat works for Prothom Alo. She can be reached at [email protected]