To The Years

To the Decembers of sorrow and longing I raise a glass. They are such weird months, arriving each year with the remnants of another autumn - wind, lost leaves, yet more chills. And each year, they set the scene for another look back at the passage of time and lost emotions, unrivaled failures and miniature triumphs. They provide the background for more unanswered questions: What have you done so far? What more can you do? Are you happy? Are you sad? Where is the love? 

I never imagined myself to be here five Decembers ago. And here, here, is not a geographic location nor is it a stop on the timeline of my life. Here is a state of mind! Where I envisioned myself to be was a completely different state, or maybe I did not really have any expectations, but I certainly did not want to be here. In a state of lacking. 

This childlike behavior seems not to be able to escape my mindset. Why the constant exposure of clichéd writings that really do nothing but heighten one's unapparent sorrows? Passages that I'll read again with the passage of time and regret their presence under my name. At a point in time, these were acceptable, and actually a sign of maturity and foresight, and maybe even depth of character. But today, how can they be reconciled with the seemingly real-life experiences of the past five years? They cannot be reconciled because nothing really changed. The core feelings that I once felt fluttering in my stomach, injecting me with adrenaline are still here, and yes, they may have faded a little, but they're still strong enough to enlighten a dream and darken a day. They can still let people catch me in a teenaged daydream, or force me to think of the what ifs before I sleep, formulating a scenario after another, either inviting a lonely, unseen smile or instigating a tear. 

Of course, this December is a little bit different than all other Decembers, as this one has a defining character to it. It couples its all too familiar triggers of Decembers past, with the stress of law exams. But then again, I am thankful - no idea to whom, but I am - and content. For maybe by next December a difference is achieved. I do not expect anything better, but only the onset of something different. One always desires what one cannot have, and I desire the near impossible. 

This December arrived with yet more ambiguity and a little bit of surety. I'm only sure that the other is still as beautiful as ever, and my love yielded nothing whatsoever. I'm sure that it's time to move on from this state of mind into another with confidence and greater aspirations. But everything is still ambiguous and hard to accept. The lack of affirmative knowledge continues to pierce my efforts for a better expectation. Nobody can be better. Nobody can even be the same; they can only be different, and this is what I think I'm striving for. 

To the years of my past and identical self I cherish a memory of sheer happiness. A memory that happened on a chilly December night, under the stars. A memory which I once hoped to erase because it set a true benchmark of bliss that I do not think I will ever reach in my life. But now, knowing the futility of my hopes, I'll cherish it and remember it, and smile with it, and aspire to get as close to its effect as possible.