New Year’s Eve Is Highly Overrated

What’s the point of celebrating New Year’s eve? I thought I knew, but apparently I don’t.

It’s not my birthday nor my graduation day. I wouldn’t be so daft picking January 1 as my future wedding date. The World Cup final will never be held in the first day of the year. It’s not even the day when your favourite international musicians perform in town – unless your favourite international musicians are Keith Martin or Christian Bautista.

So what the hell are we celebrating?

The anniversary of the only empirically-proven liveable planet in our solar system? Maybe. But surely it has nothing to do with what is going on inside most of the youth: where shall I get extremely wasted before the sun of the 2012 rises in the east?

One can accuse me of being pathetically bitter because ive never had a great New Year’s eve. Matter of fact, two of the last three NYEs were the highlights of my life. Last year NYE was a no-go because it was Friday night. The thing is, those two NYEs were off the hook, immense to the extent of it could shake Hiroshima for the second time, it got me thinking that repeating such feats will be nothing but unnecessary.

I don’t get New Year’s eve party. My friends have been raving about getting boozed and dancing till dawn and it makes me confused. I can get boozed and dance week in and week out, why getting boozed and dancing on New Year’s eve is more special?

No matter where you go, there will be a pesky announcer that will tell you how far it is from 12 o’clock. The announcer will tell the audience every an hour mark and will get down to minute mark when the time is near. Then the crowd will join in a mass New Year countdown and screaming “Happy New Year” followed by deafening noise of paper horns which I believe sound more like vuvuzelas these days. People will be united in harmony and collective happiness, it’s like a cult of Doomsday Church or Motivational Seminar-gone-wrong.

Three years ago I was enjoying the NYE on the lobby of a shopping mall which is now known for any event organizer as a bargain venue for all occasion. There were standing this bunch of males whom I had been paying attention to because they made crazy noises of their own. Like they wanted to attract public attention towards them. I could see they thought they’re cool and appealing to ladies, when in reality they looked like countryside bullies who went to some never-heard-of private school in West Jakarta. Right after the giant digital clock hit 00.00 which was accompanied by cheap celebration music, those hobos started to jumped and screamed towards each other. “It’s New Year, bro! It’s New Year! Aaaaarrrggghhhh!!! It’s New Year, bro!” for 2-3 minutes.

I didn’t like what I see and there was a slight drive within myself to punch them one by one, hoping they could come with a logical explanation of why they have to jump and scream like a caveman. They’re just being happy, so I was told, like every living soul that participate in celebrating the dawn of new year. Really.

Does new year make you happy? Because for me, it doesn’t. Not that I hate new year – I like the idea of growth and development, two things whose indicators can be easily seen annually, hence the turn of the year is essentially exciting – but to labour all the joy in one particular night is beyond my understanding. You have 365 days ahead and you decide to begin the cruise with Borgian antics. Fantastic.

I once dreamed of a wild, Charlie Sheen-esque NYE celebration and there I had it. It was great of course, but I woke up gutted the following morning. It’s not “what have I done?” gutted, more like “what the hell was that?” gutted. Pointless and hollow. The hangover was heavy nonetheless, like having Emile Heskey throning at your head, but I could get really drunk on any other day just like that day.

Realising that your involvement in New Year’s debauchery was actually caused by an utter need to be on-par with your surroundings rather than your own will to be jovial is an eye-opener like cataract surgery.

Having said that, maybe this year is different. What if the Mayans were right or some time in mid-year, Kim Jung Un deliberately triggers the nuclear head because he hates his haircut? It will make this New Year’s eve our last.

Still, it doesn’t make New Year’s eve less overrated than before.

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Starstruck

It’s like seeing all the Greek Gods came alive out of the mythology. I could barely believe my eyes, and worse, i didnt even know what the fuck am i doing there. This lad who basically hasnt achieved anything compared to these intellectuals was standing in front of his heroes, ushering them through the commemoration of one of the greatest human rights activist this country has ever had.

I dont know what your idea of being starstruck, but i have a defintion of my own. Ive stood beside several top-notch musicians, well-known actors, and once saw a gorgeous actress changing clothes before my eyes, but it’s all nothing compared to standing in front of these giants.

The event wasnt even started yet when the first goosebump brizzling my neck. I was sitting on one table, unceasingly glancing at the rundown, hoping it could ease the rambling whirlwind inside my head. On the next table, there were a group of old ladies in kebaya. They might be old, but they looked sharp. It turned out that they’re former political prisoners from the 1965 incident. Yes, they were members of the much-maligned Gerwani which had been demonised by the New Order regime.

One of them came to my table and offered a rengginang. I wasnt hungry and i dont even like rengginang, but hell, it was one hell of a privilege! So i took it and have it digested. It’s like being offered a Cabernet Sauvignon by Eric Cantona who made all the fuss to get to your table. No, it’s even better because Cantona doesnt have to survive prison and years of false accusations.

I was Charlie and i found myself in a Chocolate Factory. You know it’s overwhelming when your go-to guy is Usman Hamid and the likes of Asvi Warman Adam and Mochtar Pabotinggi was roaming around. You know it’s mentally unbearable when Mugiyanto giving affirmative nod to your closing discourse on human rights. “To continue Munir’s fight for human rights..” Who the hell do i think i am? You know it’s too much when they, virtually the hall-of-famers of socio-politic movements, had to listen to this young snob who spends more time tweeting than interacting with the oppressed.

I tried to cheer myself up after it ended. I told myself that i should put aside the unnecessary ill-conceived feeling and take honour on participating in this homage. Just when i started to relax and leave it behind, i saw the twitpic of Usman Hamid being strangled by the police. They’re out there, rallying for justice in front of the presidential palace, while i was in the comfort of air conditioner and all that luxury.

It made me feel this big –> .

 

 

 

 

 

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