As much as I enjoy Christmas—evident on how I’d always wind up straight to the table to help myself when I’m “hungry”—I see New Year’s as a more meaningful event. First, there’s no compulsory gift-giving. Secondly, almost everyone from all religions ~celebrate*~ altogether, for once.
True, I maybe branded as a killjoy for avoiding those dangerous, startling pyrotechnics hurled by brainless brats on the streets. However, I’d make up on this nonconformity by loving fireworks. Just staring at the sky to watch those colorful fireworks shoot, explode, disintegrate. Ahhh.
Staring at fireworks, especially with a captivated mob, enlivens a communal longing for beauty—a kind of beauty that’s not touched but can only be seen from afar. There’s a shared feeling that we’re all just puny and powerless. It reminds us that we’re all equal, whose dreams fling beyond the stars.