2025, A Shit Year

On Sunday, December 28, 2025, the writer, Homa Pourasgari, collapsed and died while taking a hip hop class. Her family wanted her to stick to crocheting, but she wouldn't have it. Always too adventurous for her own good, she lived a life outside the norm. When all her family and friends were planning their wedding from a young age, she travelled everywhere, living in different countries as often as possible, and meeting people from all walks of life. 

She enjoyed watching the movie, Charmed, with her teenage cousins instead of sitting around in a room full of pretentious family members. She would go on rides all day in Disneyland with her young nieces while sitting in the front row, and getting soaked from head to toe. A kid at heart, Homa got along well with children, and young adults. Her friends would say that she was stubborn to a fault, always wanting to do things her way, even if it meant making as many mistakes as possible. Her motto was, life was meant to be lived, and the future was too far away. 

A foodie, she would joke with her friends that she would not die of diseases, but rather from eating herself to death. Although she enjoyed exercising, she did everything late in life. At 18 when she had just learned how to ride a bicycle, she rode around a swimming pool on a dare, and ended up at the bottom of the pool with her new bicycle. 

When she was 23, she ran a famous franchise retail store even though she had no experience, and all her father's friends in France, and Iran said that there was no way that a franchise would let her open a business under their name. At 35, she left an accounting career, took anatomy classes, got licensed, taught indoor cycling, cardio kickboxing, and weight trained male clients, working alongside her twenty-something year old colleagues. 

At 40, she decided to change paths, and write novels. People around her told her that she was crazy, and that she couldn't do it, but she went ahead, and did it anyway. When people told her that she couldn't do something, she became determined to go, and do it. A conventional life bored her, and conservative people and her didn't mesh. Never trying to fit in, she did what she wanted when she wanted. 

She asked to be cremated, and set free in the sea. She never liked funeral flowers, and preferred lot's of color. Homa said that before she died, she didn't want to have any regrets about how she missed an opportunity to do what she wanted. She asked that after her death, instead of crying, to dance and celebrate her.

Anyway, this is the obituary that I wrote about myself. I wanted to do this because 2025 was a shit year for me. I had to let go of too many people because they hurt me both mentally, and emotionally. My family and friends are always surprised at how often I let hurtful things slide. I think it's because the people I care about are an important part of my life. Even so, I do have a boiling point. When people cross that line, I move on, because I can no longer trust them, nor forget or forgive what they did. 

With that said, I'm announcing 2025 to be the year that I died. I like hot pink roses. So, only if you fancy, when you pass by the sea, throw one in the water in my memory.