Ceremony and Chaos: Living Alone Reflections

A week passed too fast. Last week was wrapped in the holiday atmosphere as Chinese New Year approached. And now, sitting here on Chinese New Year’s Eve, all the expectations have finally arrived. Yet nothing feels dramatically different. The streets are quieter, maybe. But life hasn’t suddenly shifted into a new chapter.

Still, I love holidays. The preparation, the quiet hope that something good is about to happen — they make ordinary days feel ceremonial. Holidays remind us that certain days are meant to be special. But in daily life, especially when living alone, maybe we need to create those ceremonies ourselves.

This week’s highs and lows of living alone felt particularly sharp.

The Ceremony: Writing My First Couplets

For years, I had the idea of writing my own Spring Festival couplets. We all learned some calligraphy in primary school, but when New Year arrives, most people simply buy printed ones. I never tried writing them myself because I wasn’t confident. I hadn’t practiced in years.

But this year is different. I’m alone in a rented apartment, which means I have full authority over how it looks. No one to judge the brush strokes. No one to compare.

So I ordered red paper online and, on February 14th — yes, Valentine’s Day — I stayed home and wrote my first couplets.

No Valentine. No movie worth watching in the cinema. Just me, red paper, and ink.

I had planned to record the process, but insecurity won. Still, the result surprised me. It wasn’t professional calligraphy — not even close — but it looked alive. Personal. Real.

I laid the red couplets across my sofa and took hundreds of photos. The sense of achievement was immense. In this weekly life reflection, that was the clear high. A small ritual, self-created, turning an ordinary Valentine’s Day into something meaningful.

Sometimes ceremony doesn’t require an audience.

The Chaos: 5:30 AM and a Rat

The low came without warning. One morning around 5:30, I walked into the kitchen for water and a rat jumped out of nowhere. I froze. Then screamed. Then grabbed a broom.

I live in an old apartment, so I know rats exist in the building. I’ve always been cautious — taking out trash daily, closing windows before dark. Still, they found a tiny hole and entered.

Rats are a horror to me.

I spent hours sealing gaps and disinfecting everything. Later, I called a professional. He blocked visible openings and left poison, but there’s a sealed gap near the kitchen ceiling that can’t be opened. At night, I still hear faint footsteps above.

That morning, my first instinct was to escape. To move out. To run.

But after I calmed down, I realized something important: if I plan to live alone long term, I cannot run every time something scares me. There will be bigger challenges than rats.

This is part of the highs and lows of living alone. Independence is beautiful — sunlight, peace, freedom to decorate with red paper — but it also means facing chaos alone at 5:30 in the morning.

And staying.

Between Fear and Growth

I love this apartment. It’s sunlit and peaceful in the middle of a mega city. I am not giving that up because of hidden rats somewhere in the ceiling. Definitely not — at least not before my rent is due.

I’m working on solutions. I can hire help. I can reinforce the space. Life is life. Worse things could happen.

In this living alone reflection, I see the contrast clearly: ceremony and chaos exist together. The same week that gave me red couplets and immense pride also tested my courage before sunrise.

Maybe growth looks exactly like this — celebrating small rituals while learning not to run from fear.

That was Week 6 of 2026.

I’m grateful for both.