New Year’s Eve 2016: I was indulging in the annual O’Neil tradition of lazing in PJs, yawning, half-watching Jools Holland’s Hootenanny and completing a jigsaw (football clubs of the UK this year, by the way). My friends were out celebrating – some were at a Tube station fancy dress party, while others had made their way to London to party like it was 1999. I, on the other hand, was wearing a teddy-bear onesie and drinking hot chocolate. (Yes, I sure know how to partaay.)

It was not the most exciting of New Years, and to be honest I could barely keep my eyes open by the time Big Ben chimed twelve and the London skyline erupted in an array of blues, reds and greens. It was beautiful, an image of hope, togetherness – a clean sheet. Goodbye 2016, and good riddance to you. In fact, don’t turn around now, ‘cause you’re not welcome anymore.

So why was it, despite this cathartic experience of watching people celebrate New Year’s Eve, that I feel so down, so defeated and saddened?

The easy answer, I suppose, is to hurl abuse at 2016 for being unkind, cruel and heart-breaking and to condemn it as the sole contributor to the election of Trump, the hopeless leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, the result of the EU referendum, and for the deaths of countless human beings across the globe. I tried this – I gave it a fair shot. I moaned and groaned and cried because of what 2016 had become. I was bitter and broken by 2016 – and voiced this feeling whenever possible. (If you’re a friend of mine on Facebook, I do apologise for this).

But although it gave me a short-term release, allowing me to vent my frustrations about a complete balls-up of a year (Ed was robbed), it didn’t actually change anything. Every defeatist Facebook post I wrote, every sad conversation I had, every momentary lapse in concentration during lectures, did not actually achieve anything. For months, I had been festering then wallowing in my hatred of 2016, blaming it for everything that had gone wrong – but at the same time, I did not seek a resolution.

2016 is symbolic – not of what is bad in the world, but of the unavoidable and inherent flaws of humans. We are vain, selfish, greedy, mortal. We search for people to blame, we’re impulsive and angry, we can’t ask for help and we’re frightened.

“Too many terrible things have happened for us to simply rest on our laurels – we must will 2017 to be better, together.”

My dad always used to say that the opposite of love wasn’t hate – it was fear. I didn’t quite understand the significance of this until 2016. Such a complex is bound to result in outbursts of hopelessness. 2016 simply illuminated this, it made us realise our own mortality, its political climate prompted us to actualise our fears and frustrations, and our bewildering desire to self-destruct left scars and divisions within our communities. The politics of 2016 did not ‘go wrong’ as a result of exterior forces, like the gods, or elusive groups such as ‘the elite’ or ‘the establishment’ – this was human error, plain and simple. 

But with human error, comes human solution. World politics could be said to be determined by how happy humans are. If we feel hard done by, our political actions reflect this. If we see a future of hope and opportunity, our political actions reflect this. In America, for example, wealth gap inequality is continuing to rise – Trump presented a selection of people to blame, people’s unhappiness inclined them to believe him, and Donald J won the election. The human solution, therefore, is a change of perspective.

Our fears and frailties unite us – this is a fact so often overlooked. Regardless of political orientation, race, creed, language, and gender, these qualities are universal and as such it is possible to see the chance of unity. Only through realising this will the long-held obsession with blame begin to cease. It is no good to simply castigate and chide 2016 and simply expect 2017 to be better. Too many terrible things have happened for us to simply rest on our laurels – we must will 2017 to be better, together. We must be proactive, we must actualise our passions, hopes, desires and create the 2017 we so wish to see.

I will try to do so, inspired by the words of Jo Cox, that “we have far more in common than that which divides us”. So spread this message, sing it from the rooftops of King’s Chapel and don’t let 2017 be darkened by the shadow of its predecessor. We must shine and sparkle like the fireworks of New Year’s Eve upon the backdrop of 2016’s black misery.

So, 2017, I won’t change that stupid lock, I won’t make you leave your key. I Will Survive. And you will be glorious.