I HAVE been a busy bee lately, with spring-cleaning and home improvement projects coming out of my ears. I even spring- cleaned my desk in the office one sunny, Clorox-scented Saturday afternoon.

There's just something about a brand new year that calls for a fresh, clean start.

And so a few weeks ago, the painters came and painted my bedroom a colour I'm happy with finally. I've had new curtains made, the pantry shelves relined and the fridge cleaned thoroughly.

Just yesterday I got new lamps, 1930s ones I found in an antique shop, installed in the living room and bedroom.

A friend who's helping me do these home improvement projects protested because I've lived in my flat barely four years. Another asked: 'You've painted your room how many times in four years?'

Three, actually. Okay, maybe I'm just trying to recreate that heady feeling I had when I first moved in, when everything smelt and felt new. You could also say I have a short attention span where home decor is concerned.

But I don't see anything wrong with that. Sometimes, you need a bit of a jolt, to change your surroundings so they stay fresh and interesting.

I wonder: Can it apply to other, non-physical areas? Is it possible to spring-clean the mind?

I'm not talking about erasing memories like in the 2004 movie Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, although that sounds quite tempting sometimes.

Rather, I'm talking about dusting away the cobwebs lurking in the corners of the mind, casting off long-held prejudices, banishing old ways of thinking, to start the year on a fresher, more positive note.

But while it's easy to slap a coat of paint onto physical surroundings and get an almost-instant makeover, it's a little harder to do the same with the mind.

I think it's because in the last few years, I've let the new year roll by without too much fuss.

The last time I really felt excited about a new year was when 1999 became 2000.

I spent the New Year on a bumboat floating down the Singapore River, my friends and I toasting to 2000 with champagne, looking at fireworks erupting in the sky.

That year seemed so full of promise and was. In April, I went on an unforgettable road trip in the US with a good friend (and we've remained friends in case you were wondering). Then I came home and packed up to go to graduate school in Australia.

I came back, got consumed with work and one year has carried on to the next. These have not been bad years. Some of them have been great years. But I've accumulated some baggage I want to get rid of.

So I made some resolutions at the start of the year, something I gave up doing years ago because they lasted maybe until March, if I was lucky.

I've come to realise that to make resolutions that count, you have to sit down and take stock of things. Figure out what you want to do in the new year, figure out what's really important, figure out what you want to leave behind.

I won't bore you with the whole list but among other things, I've resolved to be a better friend to my friends, to be less judgmental and to be kinder to children. I want to tackle whatever comes my way fearlessly.

Some people will look at this list and feel exhausted. Also, the year is still young and there's the possibility I might give up and go back to the bad old ways. You know what it's like - gung-ho in January turns quickly to ennui in March.

When that happens (and I'm sure it will), I'll remind myself that the alternative is unthinkable.

I cannot end up becoming what the writer Anna Quindlen so accurately describes as a cardboard cutout, a person without a life, without good friends, without a back story, prone to toppling over.

It's a siren call to be three-dimensional and it sounds pretty irresistible.