Before January 1, 2017, hit me, I was drunk on Vodka and had puked a couple of times before the New Year’s kiss. I was at a place I didn’t want to be. I think I’d spent three NYEs at Cowboys fucking Casino in Calgary.
New Year’s Eve used to be a big deal for me, but they no longer are. The best time I had, went in stages.
As a kid, I used to love spending New Year’s Eve with family and fireworks. My sister, cousin, and I would schedule the day with things to do and games to play. That way, we can make the day go by quicker. The last thing on the list would be a nap from around 8 p.m. until 9 p.m, and then my dad would’ve cooked a big, big dinner for the family and relatives in our former restaurant.
Good times. All that kind of stopped when I turned fifteen or so – same with Christmas. Everyone had lost their enthusiasm. I had, too.
When I was around eighteen, I discovered the fun of clubbing. And yes, it involved booze because I wanted to fit in, and peer pressure was no obstacle. People liked me; what more would you want?
The best time was in my early twenties when I realised that clubbing combined with Rock and Metal was possible; most importantly, I shared with many friends who have the same interest in music and love for Desperados. (Note: It’s one of the few beers that I like and would drink at least once or twice a year when dancing hard.) Those were my favourite times back home in Hamburg.
I miss those days a lot, but you grow older, and things and people change.
One of my most memorable New Year’s Eves was crying to sleep before midnight, listening to Franz Schubert’s Winterreise on repeat. I needed that cry so bad, though. That was 2011, after I’d graduated with an MA degree and moved to an apartment in Southeast London.
The year before, I’d gone out clubbing in Islington/London with my friend. The place we went to was supposed to be an indie club, and it’s important to note that people make a fuss out of New Year’s Eve–so it was no longer an indie club, but an I-wanna-get-laid party. Wherever you swung your hips, there’d be hands grabbing you at every move. You were surrounded by drunk pricks thinking they had every right to approach you.
Anyway, my friend got picked up. I remember taking the train home alone and not being able to go to bed that night…or morning; whenever it was, I got home. I also had Nine Inch Nails’ Hurt on repeat for the whole time that I was dozing off in my student dorm room.
For some reason, my existential crises are always worst between New Year’s Eve and January 1. I think of people as ‘vertical carrions’ waiting to be eliminated before creating even more stink on Earth. Only those that are waiting are aware of what they are. The rest is simply walking on the surface.
The only way to get out of this mindset is to think of Sisyphus. However, I’m unsure if existentialists believe in destiny in the sense of having a choice. Anyway, I do. If you ever get to make a choice, it’s usually a chance you should take. But sometimes, you’re too numb and weak to remind yourself that you have to do it.
I don’t understand the point of New Year’s resolutions, as you’re supposed to think of doing good deeds every day. Every day is the same. Only our planets’ alignments change, and this is the only thing we won’t ever be able to manipulate.
In summary, 2017 has been a year of making good friends, making good decisions, resolving problems, finalizing artistic projects and–falling in love. Falling in love when you least expect it and when you thought that deep connections and compatibility were a 1% chance.
Overall I’m grateful for this year. Everyone I love is safe. Everything I hate is not bothering me right now. As for absurdity, you have to revolt against it.
I feel big changes coming my way – our way. The best thing about them is that we can make them good.
It’s a quiet one tonight. And I’m not alone.