NYE 05-06
2006 01 01
|
etc
no date
2024 +
2025
entries
home
The New Year's celebrations being over, it was time to head home. On this particular night it's next to impossible to find a taxi, so one is left with few options when homeward bound, outside of walking - which is what I did - at 4 a.m. It took me fifty minutes or so to do it, but do it I did, with pants soaked to the knees, silent streets, and a head swimming with the snowy night, sleepy delight, and far-away considerations.
Each New Year's Eve I seem to hope that by the next one at least some aspect of my life will have changed for the better, or that I will be celebrating the night in a different place. This year found me doing fairly much the same thing, with the same people, in the same place, drinking the same alcohol, and taking note of what did stand out from patterns I've grown far too accustomed to.
Sunshine? Someone said I was sunshine? It's not the first time, of late, that someone's said something like that to me. I am still a little gobsmacked by both. It's not that I don't believe them, it's just something that takes percolating on my part, some getting used to.
Spending the evening in a room full of people who practice Santeria can be... different. And no, there were no chickens with cut throats anywhere near. Oh, and according to some of the saints of Santeria (I can't remember which specifically), yellow flowers are not flowers of death -they are flowers/a colour of love.
I found out tonight, that someone I knew but a little, passed away from cancer on Boxing Day. She was the ex-girlfriend of the person whose home I was in this evening. People have been asked to write letters to her children that talk of what these people think/thought of their mother. The children are not very old, so don't have the sort of indelible memories that someone develops as they age. They will need reminders. I believe I'll write a little something. I didn't know her well, but she was never anything but pleasant to me. It's an interesting idea, this concept of writing to the children. I like it.
This year I feel, despite my tiredness, a different feeling about the future - a feeling I have not felt in a very long time. It's not optimism or pessimism. It's not certainty or doom. It's just that there is something new in the air of my existence, and my dance space no longer feels like a barren, ftuitless garden of earthly defrights.
I have this feeling, one that I can perhaps one day share, that the things which are essential to my becoming a truly whole and content person, may not be as far out of my reach as possible.