An Open Letter To The Year
When I was a child, Ma taught me something that has stayed with me all this time. Probably just another superstition she made up to get us to be good. She told me that I'll carry any habit I develop on the first day throughout a year. Back then, this usually meant I studied the hardest on New Year's Day, but unfortunately, burying myself in books doesn't make my problems go away anymore. So instead, I'll write to you about all the things I wish to manifest.
I watched scores of people dancing away into the night to welcome you, forgetting for a moment, all that your predecessor put them through. The ones that were capable of letting go of the agony anyway. With every new song, I desperately hoped to feel as revived as they did with your mere arrival, but I just couldn't make my way out of the sidelines.
You're new, so you probably don't know this about me. All through my time with your ancestors, I maintained that all I seek is contentment. Contentment with what I have, but more importantly, with what others have. I believed that once I achieve this makeshift nirvana, I'd sidestep the ambivalence that accompanies transitory sentiments.
But you, things are different with you. You can forget all about my search for serenity, I'll look for it with your future generations. All I need from you is happy. Guffaws and glee, fleeting or otherwise. See, your predecessor gave me a lot, and I'm incredibly grateful, but it took away more; a trade I'm not sure I wanted. So, in order to keep my soul unbroken, I'm forced to exchange perpetual tranquility for momentary mirth. I'll even accept small, distributed amounts of sorrow to make it an even transaction. Only, remind me what boundless joy feels like? The hum-while-working, skip-while-walking, talk-incessantly kind of joy. You take a step, I take a step, and we'll be there. As long as you're helping me out, I wouldn't mind a sprinkling of sparkle, magic and faith, interspersed with waves of love, but I'll let you figure out the minutiae.
Also, humanity is having a tough time. A little empathy right about now would do us great, anything you can afford to spend.
I'm certain I'll reach out to you again, with gratitude or gripe. But, until then, I'll play the music slow, turn the lights down low, jump into your divine and sway to the rhythm of you.