January 1, 2050. Saturday.
Didn't expect to wake up this early. The light came in flat and pale through the curtains, the kind that doesn't really brighten the room so much as remind you that the day has already started without asking. It sat there for a while before I moved, like it was waiting for me to decide whether I was participating.
Sound came in layers. Persistently loud. I didn't need to look outside to know what it would look like because it always matches the sound. Some kids were still blowing those plastic horns from last night, uneven bursts that sounded like they'd run out of rhythm hours ago but kept going out of stubbornness. Somewhere farther out, a karaoke track was still playing, muffled by distance and walls, someone holding onto the last stretch of the night like it hadn't technically ended yet. Metal shutters rolled up one by one along the street, the scraping echoing slightly between buildings. Engines followed soon after, smaller ones, uneven, probably the early deliveries, and people who didn't care that it was a holiday. Underneath all that, the steadier things. Bells, spaced out and deliberate. A call to prayer drifting in from somewhere I couldn't place exactly. Balanced, in a way that only happens when no one is trying to match anyone else.
Unit was already awake. It had finished charging sometime before I opened my eyes, the dock light dimmed to its usual standby glow and low, even hum. When I shifted, it adjusted slightly in its cradle, a small rotation, like it was tracking movement more out of habit than instruction. When I sat up, Unit made a soft tone and drifted forward just enough to clear the dock, hovering near the edge of my desk before settling back like it had reconsidered. Unit doesn't really "decide" things. It just follows patterns long enough that it looks like it does.
My first actual thought was whether the pomelos survived Dad last night. Which felt like a specific way to start a year that was supposed to matter. I guess it counts as being energized. Or at least my brain had picked something easy to focus on before anything else could get in. I didn't stay up for most of the countdown. Went to bed early, slipped out before the part where everyone insists on watching the same programs and pretending it matters which one you catch at midnight. Said I was tired. No one argued. Either they believed me, or it was easier to let it go than start something on New Year's Eve. It worked out. No one brought it up this morning.
By the time I stepped out, Ah Gong and Ah Ma were already up. They've been here since Christmas, moving through the apartment like they've always lived here, filling the spaces that usually sit quiet at this hour. There's a kind of warmth to it that doesn't require effort. It's just there, and you only notice it when it's not. No chores today. That rule held without discussion. Even Dad doesn't push it on the first day of the year. No sweeping or throwing anything out. Absolutely no starting anything that looks like it might disrupt whatever invisible line people think luck follows. It makes the place feel suspended, like everything is paused on purpose.
The table was already set with more fruit than anyone was going to finish. Oranges, mostly. Round things, safe things. Ah Ma made a small motion when I reached for one, like I was supposed to do it properly, though I'm not entirely sure what "properly" means in that context anymore. I peeled it anyway. It tasted the same as always, maybe a little sweeter, or maybe that's just what I tell myself on days when it's supposed to mean something.
The TV was already on, volume low but constant. Government messages cycling through, one after the other. Same five faces, same structure. Unity, rootedness, and prosperity. The kind of speeches that can put you in a good mood if you don't ask any questions. The ticker running along the bottom had reminders about travel, safety advisories, and other small things that look helpful until you realize how often they repeat. It blended into the background after a while.
Mom didn't wait long before bringing up the timetable. Said it like it was something that should have already been on my mind. Dad said something about the decisions you make at seventeen, following you in ways you can't predict. He said it like he was reminding himself of something, not telling me anything new. Neither of them said anything wrong. That's the problem with how they say things. It all fits too neatly. It just lands and stays there, like a weight you don't notice until you try to move. There's a rhythm to these conversations. If you stick to it, they don't go anywhere deeper.
Somewhere in between all of that, outside, someone was already rolling Fai Chun along the floor hallway. It crossed my mind how small today will feel compared to what's coming. Chinese New Year is the one everyone really moves for. This is just the opening. A warm-up people take seriously because they're supposed to, and not because it's the main event. Mom mentioned planning for it later, something about schedules and relatives and making sure everything lines up. The way she said it made it clear that today wasn't the priority.
I stayed at the table longer than I needed to, long after I had finished eating. Just sat there while everything moved around me at its own pace. The TV kept talking. The fruit kept getting passed around. Conversations started and stopped without fully forming. It all felt steady in a way that didn't require anything from me beyond being present. Unit drifted out of its dock at some point and hovered just outside the doorway. It stayed there for a while, angled slightly toward the table. I don't know if it was responding to movement or sound or just following whatever pattern it's set to default to. It made a soft adjustment when I shifted in my seat, then settled again.
I picked up my device eventually. Notifications had already stacked up, but I didn't open most of them. Left them where they were for a few seconds, like delaying it would somehow change what was inside. Never does. There was a clip going around from last night, some street celebration that had apparently gotten out of hand. I watched it twice and couldn't tell exactly what had happened. Shaky camera and people moving fast, it was just hard to read. Comments were going back and forth about it. I closed the app before anything could form into an opinion.
I stepped out to the balcony after breakfast, mostly to get away from the noise inside. The air felt heavier than it looked. The sky was overcast but bright enough that it flattened everything below into the same shade of muted grey. You could already feel the humidity settling back in, even this early. It clung lightly to the railings and my skin as if to say it would get worse by noon.
The street below was slower than usual, but not empty. A few vendors were already setting up unhurried, like they were stretching the morning out as long as they could. Metal shutters rolled up halfway, paused, then fully, as if even the shops were reluctant to commit to the day. Someone was arranging plastic stools in front of a stall, spacing them out with unnecessary precision.
Decorations from last night were still everywhere. You could still hear the leftovers of celebration, including the occasional delayed firecracker somewhere farther out, followed by a pause long enough to make you wonder if that was the last one. Followed by another. There's always someone with a stash they didn't finish last night.
What stood out more was how quickly everything else returned. The sight of traffic building back up. Conversations drifting up from neighbours below in fragments. The rhythm of someone cooking already, by the sound of oil hitting a hot surface. Life filled the gaps almost immediately, like it had been waiting just offstage.
Down the block, the checkpoint exoskel was exactly where it always was. Same position and angle. Didn't demand attention but took up space anyway. Offset enough to suggest that it could fully block the road if it wanted to. Its frame caught the light in small, dull reflections. People moved past it without slowing down. A delivery bike cut close to it to avoid a pothole, adjusting instinctively without breaking pace. Someone crossed the street a few meters away, not because of it, just because that's where they happened to be going. A tourist stopped near it for a moment, device already in hand. Probably curious but definitely not in any meaningful way. Same old detached interest foreigners have for anything that looks slightly different from what they're used to. They angled themselves carefully, making sure the exoskel was in the background, held still for a second, then checked the result immediately after. Satisfied, probably. They moved on without a second look.
It shifted slightly after a while, like it was recalibrating its balance. One of its upper modules tilted a fraction, then returned to neutral. A faint, almost imperceptible pulse of light passed across part of its frame, scanning something that wasn't obvious from this distance. There wasn't any reaction from the people around it. A second later, it went still again. If I hadn't been looking directly at it, I probably wouldn't have noticed. That was the part that stayed with me more than anything else. Not the machine itself, but how easy it was to miss. Or ignore. Or accept. I wondered if there was still a difference between those three things.
It's not like this is new. This city runs on things like that, quietly sitting in the background, watching and adjusting. You stop thinking about them because there's no point in thinking about them all the time. They don't ask anything from you most days. They don't interrupt. They don't interfere, not in ways you can point to easily. So they become normal. Normal in the way things become when they never leave. I leaned on the railing for a bit longer. Long enough that the sounds below started to blur into something consistent again. I went back inside when the heat started settling in properly.
My device lit up almost immediately after I picked it up. Even more notifications than I expected for this early in the day, but not surprising given the date. Everything always comes in waves on days like this. Messages. Announcements. People are trying to reset things all at once.
Alex was at the top of the list. He'd sent something while I was outside. No context, just some edited clip mashed together with text that looked like it had gone through three different languages before landing where it did. I stared at it longer than I should have, trying to figure out what the joke was supposed to be, then gave up halfway through and accepted that the confusion was probably the point.
A second message came in before I could even react to the first. Another image. Same energy. Slightly worse resolution, somehow. Then a third, just text this time. Short. Asking if I was awake. No follow-up explanation. I didn't answer immediately. Only because if I did, it would turn into a back-and-forth that would eat the rest of the morning. He's like that. Once he starts, it didn't really stop unless something interrupted him. Still, there was something under it that felt familiar in a different way. Not just noise for the sake of noise. The timing, mostly. Early enough that it wasn't just random. Like he was checking who was around. Making sure all his friends were still there.
Vivian's message came in a few minutes later. Short, but not in a rush. She asked if the countdown at our building went the way it usually did. Her family had gone to her Ah Ma's place in DKH. Said her cousins were loud until two in the morning. Asked how my Ah Gong and Ah Ma were. Then, almost as an afterthought at the end: had I seen the update in the debate group yet. I hadn't. I appreciated that she checked the other things first. I knew what the group chat would look like even without checking. Messages from people who were already thinking about the next term. Probably a few from outgoing seniors tying up loose ends. I left it unopened for the moment.
The journalism group chat was worse. Not in a bad way, just more active. Someone had already brought up the first issue of the calendar year. Suggestions were being thrown around back and forth without much thought. New Year reflections. Year-ahead predictions. Some people are taking it seriously, others are clearly still in holiday mode. Myself included.
A photo had been posted. Fireworks from last night, but framed in a way that didn't look accidental. Clean lines. Good timing. The kind of shot that takes either a lot of luck or someone who knows exactly what they're doing. It had already gotten a few reactions. People commented on the quality, asking where it was taken and whether it could be used for the issue. The conversation was shifting around it. I scrolled past it after a second. Not because it wasn't good. Just because there was nothing for me to add to that kind of discussion yet. A separate message to me had come in from Ky somewhere in the middle of all of it. Straight to the point without "Happy New Year Jax.". Fireworks also from last night, but the angle and the distance made it look like she'd climbed Gau Ming Shan to get it. Turns out that's exactly what she did. Made me wonder what she was thinking about while she was taking it. She hadn't sent it to the group. Only directly to me, without context, the same way we've ended up talking about most things recently. I've decided to save her photo.
Mikey's message was buried a bit lower. Just text. Complaining about school starting again. Not dramatic, just the usual kind of resistance everyone goes through at the end of a break. He asked if I'd checked the announcements yet. Said he was thinking about not looking at it until the last possible moment, then immediately said he'd already checked it and was annoyed at himself for doing it. He didn't say what was in it. I didn't ask. That part felt familiar enough to almost be reassuring. We hadn't talked much over the break. Not for any specific reason. It just happens sometimes. People drift a bit when there's no more shared routine holding things together. He didn't try to make anything out of it. We just picked up where things usually were.
Now the school announcements sat under everything else. Greetings for the new year. Reminder about the upcoming term. Emphasis on discipline, preparedness, all the usual things. There was a note about safety protocols as well. Important, but not something you're meant to dwell on. My section assignment and timetable were attached. I opened it just enough to confirm it loaded, then closed it again before actually reading anything. There's a very specific kind of anxiety that comes from seeing the structure of your next few months laid out all at once. It turns everything from something abstract into something fixed. Harder to ignore once it's there in front of you. I wasn't ready for that yet. Not today.
I cleared a few of the less important notifications. Left the rest where they were. It felt easier to let them sit there, unresolved, than to go through them one by one and deal with what each of them implied. There would be time for all of it later. That's what I kept telling myself.
We headed out for Mass not long after breakfast. The apartment still held onto that slow, padded quiet that only shows up on holidays. No one is in a rush. Even the elevators felt less impatient. I didn't say much on the way down. None of us really did. The silence that doesn't need filling because everyone already knows what the day is supposed to look like. I don't really go to church on my own anymore, but on days like this, it's just assumed. "Our parish," Mom still calls it, even though she first called two other nearby churches that since we settled here 10 years ago. Somehow it stays "ours." The walk there wasn't crowded today. People were moving at a slightly slower pace than usual, dressed a little nicer.
Inside, it was the usual. Mostly older people, a few families, some teens like me who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else but also didn't have a good enough reason not to be there. We sat where we always end up sitting, somewhere that lets me see more than I'm supposed to. I tried to listen at first. Something about renewal, starting over, the usual theme for this time of year. It didn't stick. My attention kept drifting. I started noticing smaller things instead. The way people shifted in their seats when the homily got too long. The pattern of heads tilting up at the same time during certain lines. The synchronized standing and sitting, like everyone was following muscle memory more than thought. The architecture helped. How everything directs your attention forward whether you want it to or not. I spent more time mentally tracing lines than actually listening.
There was a moment somewhere in the middle where I realized I hadn't heard a single full sentence in a while. I felt a slight amount of guilt about that, just enough to acknowledge it. I tried to tune back in. It didn't last. My mind kept slipping back to school. Not even anything specific. Just the fact that it's there again soon.
When it ended, people didn't rush out. Everyone lingers just a bit longer, like leaving too quickly might undo whatever the point of being there was supposed to be. We made our way outside slowly, following the same flow.
More exoskel units were there. Two of them, positioned near the steps, like they'd been there long enough to be part of the building. People walked past them on the way out, still in that quiet, unhurried post-Mass mode. Someone paused beside one of them to adjust a child's collar. Didn't look up. The priest was still at the door, thanking people as they left. The units were maybe four meters away from him. He didn't acknowledge them either. I'm not sure what I expected them to do.
We went straight to lunch after. Same place as always, or at least close enough that it didn't feel like a decision. Madam Teo Kitchen. Already half full, which I guess makes sense. It's a holiday. Not a lot of people want to cook and admit it. We ordered a group set without much discussion. That's how it usually goes. Enough food for everyone, more rice than necessary, something roasted, steamed, and fried. It's predictable in a way that's kind of comforting. The roast chicken was genuinely good. The skin has that specific colour, and the meat hasn't dried out. That's why I'm writing the name of the place to remember.
Ah Gong started his usual routine not long after the food arrived. Same kind of questions, just phrased slightly differently each time. What I wanted for the year. What I hoped to "open the year with." It's never really about the answer. It's about saying something that sounds right. I gave something safe. Peace, less stress, fewer late nights. They laughed like I'd said something clever. Ah Ma asked what kind of peace. Not in a way that was pushing. More like she was curious what shape I thought it would come in. I said I wasn't sure yet. She nodded like that was a satisfying answer, which it probably shouldn't have been, but somehow was.
Mom and Dad moved into their own version of the conversation right after. Work goals, planning ahead, reminders about this being an important year. They kept going like a steady background noise that never quite turns off. I responded when needed and kept everything surface-level. It's usually enough. Today it was.
The restaurant itself was louder than the church but still restrained. Plates clinking with the occasional burst of laughter from another table. Nothing out of place as it's supposed to. Until it didn't, for a second.
A delivery drone clipped the edge of a balcony across the street. Not hard enough to crash, but enough to throw it off. It spun once, then again, slower the second time, like it couldn't quite figure out how to correct itself. It hung there for longer than it should have. Long enough for people to notice, but not long enough for anyone to react strongly. A few heads turned. Then it stabilized. Straightened out like nothing had happened and continued on its path. That was it. Conversation resumed almost immediately. Plates kept moving. I didn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the meal.
It wasn't the drone itself. Things malfunction. That's not what I kept coming back to. It was the gap. That small window where it wasn't doing what it was supposed to do and nobody knew what to do with that. Including me. I just stared at it like everyone else. I don't know why that's the part I couldn't let go of. It made me realize how much of everything depends on that consistency. Not just the big things. All of it. Whatever runs quietly in the background. You assume it's all holding together because it always has. Until it doesn't, even briefly.
Nothing else happened after that. The rest of the meal went the way it was supposed to. More small talk about the year ahead. Dad talked about new goals at work. Mom added about planning ahead in her career too. By the time we left, it already felt like the moment with the drone had been absorbed into everything else, flattened out into something forgettable. I don't think I'll forget it.
We got home in the late afternoon. The apartment felt quieter than it had in the morning. Only comes after a day out, when everyone settles back into their own corners. Ah Gong and Ah Ma took over the living room with their tea, same slow rhythm as always. Mom and Dad went back to their computers almost immediately. Holiday or not, there's always something that needs checking.
I stayed in the hallway for a bit longer than I needed to. Unit drifted out of its dock when I passed by. It followed me a short distance before stopping. When I turned back, it adjusted again, almost like it was waiting. I didn't interact with it. It didn't need anything from me. It stayed there longer than usual before returning to its dock.
I went to my room after that and finally did the thing I'd been putting off for months. Subscribed to this journaling software everyone keeps recommending. I don't know why today felt like the right time. Maybe because the year already feels like something I'll lose track of unless I keep some kind of record. Maybe just because I wanted somewhere to put things that didn't have anywhere else to go. This entry is the first thing I wrote. I told myself I wouldn't make resolutions. No lists or promises that I'll forget in a week. But I know this: I need to pay more attention. To things, to people, to myself. Or at least stop pretending I'm not noticing things when I clearly am. That's probably enough.
I ended up on the balcony again before bed. The city looked calmer than it did this morning. The leftover decorations were still there, but dimmer now. Traffic moved steadily below. Unit hovered beside me for a while. I didn't hear it come out. It just appeared there, holding position at the edge of my sight. At some point it slightly turned toward me. The way it does sometimes when it's running one of its passive scans. The blue light didn't come on. It just looked at me, or whatever it does when it's oriented in my direction. Then it turned back toward the city.
The city always looks like it's resting from up here. Like it forgot, for a few hours, that it's supposed to be watching. I'm still thinking about that clip from earlier. And the drone. And how quickly people move on from things they don't understand. I hope this calm lasts. I don't expect it to, but I hope.
Something will break this year. I just don't know whether it'll be the city, or me finally speaking up.