Decembers are always different.
A yearning heart yearns for eleven dreary months for an epiphany, which never comes. For three hundred and thirty four days, life seems to be a battle between what needs to be done and what the heart wants; the former winning the case more often than not. But it is this persistent heart that never stops yearning, carrying over the dreams of one day into in another, depositing a little more as each day passes, and never striking off an item from the list. Why, because there never is time for dreams to come true. The circus goes on to for eleven months when finally, there is realization that it is already too late to make things happen. Why? Maybe because we learnt to divide our life and years, and this is the end of another one.
And December is different.
The heart lets go: not because it has lost faith, rather it’s the exact opposite. There is an invigorated dawn of hope, that a new chapter in life is about to begin. A new year that might see a dream or two coming true, and thus for this whole month, the heart vicariously relishes the feeling of accomplishment by merely hoping and planning for the new chapter. Diaries are written, promises are made and resolutions are drafted; all in celebration of a new chapter in life that is right at our doorstep.
But this is not the celebration of what December means to us; rather, this is what makes December what it is. The days are still as long as they have been and life is as ordinary as it has been; but nothing appears to be ordinary. The gloominess of the sky brings out a memory or two, the quiet of the night churns up a few dreams and the cold begins whispering all the mistakes we committed the entire year. We realize the time to make amends is long gone. The time to make amends for this year is long gone. The atonement is to come in another chapter of life, or if we the heart had its words, in another lifetime: the one that waits, beyond December.
Isn’t the finale always unique? The final hour of the day, last days of the week, closing week of the month; all of these awake in the heart a ray of hope that grows in magnitude with the measure of time. But all these instances or periods make it evident that we are always looking for hope. We are always yearning for a better tomorrow, and certainly a better version of ourselves. The finale of every measure of time just reminds us that tomorrow is another day, next week is a brand new one, and that next year, is a whole new life altogether.
I hope that it is a whole new life. For the sake of our hope, our promises and most importantly our dreams, let’s have faith that Decembers really are different.