So this is my first post of 2016; so many literary expectations on my behalf, I should probably write something spectacular, the awaited read of the new year! Well, I’d be lying if I said I liked the whole new year craze, or believed in its much publicized regenerative powers. I’ve never really had that gush of happiness as midnight struck, awaiting with untamed impatience the golden bearings of the new year; isn’t it after all just another date on the calendar?
My earliest memory of New Year’s Eve festivities dates back to the year 2000, a year presumably life-altering for the planet, marking a new millenium bla bla bla. I was ten at a grown-ups’ party and all I wanted was confetti and cake. Surprisingly, it was fun, and by the end of it I wasn’t quite sure who deserved the “kid” label. If there’s one thing about this day I can acknowledge as truly beautiful, I believe it’s the capacity adults have to forget for just a few hours all what makes them old, tired, responsible, logical and all the dried-up descriptions that come with time and “maturity”. We’re all the same kids who dazzlingly stared at fireworks, hugged by strangers lost in the moment’s frenzy, stupidly clapping at the TV as the determining countdown ended. I relish those instants where everyone lets go of what society has taught them about decorum or age-appropriate behaviours, and just gets high on hope. Hope, the drug that would never, under any circumstance, become illegal, cause harm or go out of fashion.
This year, unlike so many before it, I decided not to party, not to dress up in fancy clothes and heels, not drink too much whiskey or dance with random strangers on a passing feverish whim. I decided to spend this much-talked-about crossover evening with my family, something I hadn’t done in years. I admit, I have sometimes made myself believe this night was of some cosmic importance and had to be treated as such, making the fall all the more painful; the terrible workings of fashion and the media probably had a hand in it. However, this year, I decided to share a smooth, loving comfortable evening with the only people who never left my side as I planned so desperately to leave theirs by pure rebellion. We started off with an old hollywood movie, a classic picture with two of my favorite actors, and it was pure bliss. As we sat there with our champagne glasses, hot chestnuts and warm pajamas, I couldn’t even picture myself anywhere else, or with anyone else. Then we covered our old trolley – one of those hotel room service type wooden and golden tables on wheels – with an assortment of cold cuts and cheese, French breads and salad, wine and liqueur-filled chocolates, and delved into what one would describe as the simplest of pleasures.
As fireworks started to rise in the darkened sky and boats started honking in the port which my house overlooks, I couldn’t help but smile; this had been the best New Year start I had ever had, and all I had needed was what I had always had. How grateful I am for these simple epiphanies, and for the crazy disturbingly unsettling year 2015 proved to be; if there’s only one thing I could take from the past twelve months, it’s that I’ve learnt we don’t need much to be happy, all we need is each other. So here’s to another twirl around the sun, and to happy new awakenings.