When the traditional fuss starts over the year’s last month, the exile I feel glitters the most. A few passing years have been deficient in fervor which used to mesmerize me by the end of each year. It bugs, being aware of it but unable to change it. New dreams mourn their lack of ambitions; new hopes suffer a dearth of igniting sparks. I miss smiles that once reflected deep relief. I miss spirits that once scattered warmth through the coldest days. I miss promising eyes that once sparkled among the darkest ways. I miss me –a while ago- when my determination shaded a tough reality. I miss my homeland, my grandma’s house, my family gatherings, my friends’ gossip, and the listing is infinite. So another year is about to set off, but despite the commotion that fills the universe with colorful images and joyful sounds, it still feels gloomy and stagnant. For me, this time of year, with the auspicious optimism it is supposed to convey, has lost its individuality between others. Years pass by as if they haven't; no remarkable significance or development indicates their existence. I am more cognizant but less certain. I am more mature but less content. As I grow a year older, my hopes and expectations grow a year ashier. Years have had their mark on my age, my awareness, my maturity, but not on the concept I chose to live; hopefully, it will be actualized one day. I wish the dictator be cured, and the tyrannized be rescued. I wish the agonized attains ease, and the expatriate finds home. I wish morals exceed materialism. I wish love heals what abuse shatters. I wish peace pervades spirits, and unites the world to one nation; a populace believing in equality, respecting freedom of mind, and appreciating the reward of living.
** May This Month Apprise of a Blessed New Year **
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