Two Thousand and Eleven on a Trolley

Another year passes by. An undeclared baggage stuffed with smiles, bad laundry, achievements, broken hearts, trash, confessions, jealousy, gossip, realizations, flashes, trips, disasters, success, chaos and absolute madness, as it passes through the green channel all zipped up, strapped tight and locked with a combination that we do not want to remember for the coming year.

This is the 9 pm of the day where we can sigh out our exhaustion, loosen our buttons and stretch out our legs on the couch. We’ve done all we could; ran as fast as we possibly can, scraped our knee over the gravel, dirtied ourselves over the tar, slipped and twisted our ankle and finally crossed the black&white checkered line and managed to grab that yellow flag.

And it’s been anything but easy. The tear between two paths, the choice between two equals, and the no man’s land between two ends has only fanned the flames to a burning quest.

It’ll soon be time to snooze that alarm one more time till we have to get up with sleepy eyes and run another day but not now. This is the time for family and fireworks and accolades and appreciation and a pat on the back for being so tough. Just so tough.

So put on a coat if it’s too cold outside or maybe carry some rum and head out to the radiant streets where you can pretend to permeate through the stories from the faces of strangers and suppose what their year has been. But when the ball drops, forget everything and look up to make a wish at the brightest firework.