An End to a Year and the Myth of New Beginnings

All of us look back to a certain time in our lives, seeking for the same turbulence of the New Year celebration and trying to relive the excitement we once had as a child, but finding instead that all of our attempts only lead us to a place where it is silent and calm.

Welcome to the world of adulthood. 

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Carry on to where Green is Home

Leaving behind 2016 also means to me leaving behind Rose Quartz and Serenity. I could still remember how this time last year I was so giddy to find out that two of my most favorite hues have been chosen to be Pantone’s 2016 Color of the Year. From pastel skies and hair styles and clothing aesthetics, I let my heart waddle in joy over my favorite colors for one entire year, until it was no more.

pantone-greenery

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A Year of Admission

There are voices inside my head that refuse to be silenced. On the train or at the streets, or at the streets or in the silent corners of a classroom at the university. I hear these voices with all the sharpness of a wailing knife. Sometimes they tell good things to me, but most of the time they curse curse curse. I wish they would stop but the stronger I wish they were gone, the louder they scream into the depths of my calloused consciousness.

But even with all these weight I try to live like the most of them: these lost and floating faces in the university. And through my interactions with them I come to realize how little they differ from me, and how much we share the same encounters. I promise myself this year to learn to live with acceptance, and in all of those moments I find myself wanting for some, I tell myself over and over again to learn to accept my circumstances and to learn to be grateful for whoever the Universe sends in our way. The ultimate strategy is to live in the moment, and to let the rest of your worries find their own time.

Before You Exit

Time has brought us once again to the end of another race. Whether we won or not in this race is no important matter now. Ultimately, what matters more is the fact that we are able to reach this point, to say that we have accomplished no matter how small or great our accomplishments may be, and finally to acknowledge to ourselves the courage which brought our feet to this resting place.

2015 was a year of transitions. True, I was never more stable in life that I am this year. But still, every now and then I found myself fazed by people and events which I have no control of, seized by an immeasurable sadness which seemed to have dominated this life. Despite the abundance I have enjoyed this year, I still found myself wanting for something else: something entirely distant and foreign, something no amount of money could ever buy or even replace.

At the end of it all, I realized that there is nothing ever more truly important in life than acceptance: to learn to accept things as they are, to try not to change people, to try not to resist. Forgiveness, I learned just now, comes much later on. It will fall on people’s hearts only after they cleared their souls with acceptance.

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Christmas is Dead

In 2015, I will look back to this year’s Christmas and I will think of it as a joke, a prank, a comical parade of everything ludicrous and shameful in our sorry lives.

In 2015, I will remember the silence and how it muffled every sound in the world when I wished everyone a Merry Christmas. But what do these words mean other than the vacant sound of a syllabic ho-ho-ho and the empty rhythm of an old Christmas medley?

In 2015, I will remember the look on my sister’s face, the crack in her fading voice, as she whispered to me on the night before Christmas, “Hey, it doesn’t feel like Christmas at all”, and in that moment I caught myself defenseless by the honesty of her expression, by the gravity of its truth.

Tell me then, what’s Christmas supposed to feel like? What thrill must there be in our hearts, what presents must we receive, in order to feel that it is Christmas? I had nothing more to say to her other than what we both already knew and felt. I peered into her young searching heart, into her juvenile soul, and saw my own dizzying reflection. I looked away for I know what was missing.

In 2015, I will remember my mother’s face and how I see in her eyes an attempt to reconstruct our lives after the image of her own ideals. I drown in my mother’s reverie and sunk into her vast ocean dream for in there I am nothing more than a speck of dust or a splinter of wood floating helplessly in the open possibilities of the things she dream for us all.

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Last Blog Post for the Year 2013

In a matter of hours everything that I have ever seen, felt and experienced for the past one year shall all be sucked into this grand massive festivity known as New Year’s Day. Everything that I have ever been through shall be effaced gracefully from memory to make room for the coming of a brand new year. And in the light of such a gleeful anticipation, there is within my soul a yearning to look back, to remember. In the midst of the blinding glare of pyrotechnics and the thunderous sound of gaiety lies a deafening silence for this retrospection.

2013 was a year of both loss and gain. There was, all throughout the year, a familiar rhythm of the coming and going of things, of people. It marked the dawn of an awakening that for the most part brought me the hardest lesson I ever had to learn in life: to let go. Be it an expensive backpack I kept all summer long only to be stolen in the 2nd month of the semester or a missed chance to present a paper in a school seminar, or perhaps, a memory of childhood on a rainy August afternoon, there was only one loud sound throbbing incessantly in my mind: “Let it all go.”

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An Exodus

The three of us were engaged in a conversation under the blanket of that crowded Monday morning. The smell of reconstruction greeted everyone with unexpected dose of delight. The sight of freshly painted walls and newly-lighted rooms brought a sense of exhilaration to everyone who was there. Murmurs turned to clamors as everyone breathed the scent of last year’s spirit to fill the heart with last year’s tales. Footsteps rushed to and fro along the hallway as voices filled the solemn atmosphere with howls of New Year’s greeting.

The three of us were engaged in a conversation. As everyone busied themselves with the stories of holidays, we talked about the things of the past. We talked about the Holocaust, we talked about death. We talked about the Vatican and the evils that lurk beneath them. We talked about world wars and concentration camps and how living is such a difficult thing in the age of nuclear bombs and narcissism.

We talked about dying.

For a moment there my mind drifted off of the conversation and wandered around. I was overtaken by the grand spectacle from up there and how such an unmistakable beauty transforms to a lovely view from the sixth floor of the university. I mean, people take it for granted sometimes. The sight of lush green trees screaming to reach the grandeur of the blue skies that stretched from the corners of the earth, the outlines of the towering skyscrapers that create an illusion in the vastness of the horizon, the whisper of the calming breeze that every now and then visits the far corners of my frigid heart, the way I am comforted by a feeling of familiarity, of companion, in such a place where I mostly feel alone.

There was sadness in every inch of my shriveling skin as my eyes searched for something to hold on to, a kind of sadness one feels when one is too frustrated or too desperate it makes them drown in a maelstrom of sickly human emotions, a kind of sadness that gives birth to some existential angst and later on transforms into questions no one has any answer for, a kind of sadness that Holden Caulfield probably felt when he imagined himself catching children in the rye.  Continue reading “An Exodus”