2014 is here. On NYE celebratory firework explodes into the air. Annual ritual. Forget the ritual part. Few days a year we blow money into the air for various reasons so that bright hope and shining dreams can keep us warm in Eurolands. Imagine if the sky is lit with millions of euros. Imagine if the rainbow and Pantone met at a heathen fest and kissed for hours. That’s how I would describe New Years Eve in the Netherlands to a blind person. Functional? Maybe. This year the rooftop of the supermarket LIDL provided me access to first class seats to the show. Unfortunately, on the ground, was more like bombs over BOLO aka Bos & Lommer, since the explosive bomb-like firework made us dance the Azonto to safety. The country is briefly traumatized by the casualties that will enter the year without limps or sight only to repeat the same trauma 364 days later. No judgement. I rather not feed into the newest/heated discussion in Hollandia, but save my energy for October’s Zwarte Piet battle festivities.
Fast forward. All jokes aside. Nine days into January teaches us that our bombs are illusionary.Whenever I am caught dancing with vanity, the internet reminds me that suffering is eating humanity’s christmas leftovers somewhere on this planet. Yesterday, it was South-Sudan. The day before; Philippines and today it reached Beirut. Skip my perception of time. It’s diluted by metaphors. Perhaps, we can find solace in the words of writer Sophie Chamas who managed to capture a broken city’s dreams in the moment of despair:
Our hearts don’t break anymore. They don’t break for a Beirut we long ago dismissed as beyond repair. They don’t break for the dead. We laugh at the absurdity of our condition, displacing our pride in a now clichéd ability to illuminate even the darkest corners with humor. But there’s nothing funny about a suicide bombing. There’s nothing funny about apathy. There’s nothing funny about surrender. There’s nothing funny about forgetting how to love the city that survived a war for us, and that now needs us to survive one for it—by not succumbing to indifference, but by not abandoning it to those who seek to violate it in the name of a most sordid of loves. (via STATE)
All this is a reminder that a year is full of life, broken hearts, deaths, boredom, happenings, love and conflicts. Moments to collect and minutes to connect. Embracing the passing of time is the same gift as upholding a broken city’s promise.