Our friends gave birth to their first child, Eleanor! She was born on a trip east, and had to spend some time at the hospital. They sent us a wonderful photograph of her reaching out from her hospital crib. I simply had to commemorate.

Steer clear of Adidas; obtain a degree in Dutch language and literature; wear my aunt’s glasses until I eventually need my own prescription; don’t eat fried chicken; proclaim I’m a fan of Michel Houellebecq; don’t go to a black hair salon; enrol in theological seminary; don’t listen to RnB; date a person blacker than me; date a person whiter than me; don’t eat watermelon; say I’m ‘accidentally black’ because my mother met my father while on vacation and I missed by only an inch the opportunity to be born to a white father who was a doctor, by the way; eat bananas only after I cut them into bite-size chunks that I eat with a fork, just to make sure I don’t remind anyone of a monkey; don’t listen to rap music; learn difficult words.

Upon opening the jar of coconut oil (for cooking, hair, and skin care), right when my finger makes contact with what is too solid for comfort, I think of Iris and her graduation party, which was an utter calamity. Iris and I had attended kindergarten together, but it was by the grace of my cousin’s status as a pretty blonde girl that I even knew about any of the parties. From the moment we arrived, it was clear that it was a mistake for anybody to be there; at least for those who had received invitations to other parties. I couldn’t tell on which side of the pause my cousin belonged, but she had in her eyes the boredom of a person who has choices.

Proudly nasty, I joined Anja, my mother-in-law Sauci, and millions of others around the world last Saturday to attend the Women’s March. Museum Square in Amsterdam was full of pussy hats, face paint, smiling faces, and righteous indignation.

“Slept a little, had a midnight snack, went in for a bathroom break. Slept some more. Basically the life of a four-year-old” she says, and she tells me about her flight to Stockholm. She has been sleeping poorly lately; I say “lately” but I only met her last month, so I don’t know what her sleep hygiene is, although she says “it has improved since I began falling asleep in your arms”. I imagine how she sleeps on the plane, entertaining the other passengers, cabin crew, and pilots with her stupefyingly loud snores.

In many ways, 2015 was a transformative year for me.