RIP AULD LANG SYNE
ALTHOUGH you may be experiencing New Year’s Eve anxiety, just kill it off. New Year’s Eve passed away in 2017 after a long illness diagnosed as peer pressure and fake joy. It was 2 062 years old.
The symbolic rolling over of the calendar spent most of its life plagued by the pressure of celebration, the worry of the 365 days to come and the daunting task of following through on vague, hopeful resolutions.
New Year’s Eve and the fresh day that followed was the brainchild of Julius Caesar. Tired of the erratic behaviour of the lunar cycle and its inability to fall in line with the changing of the season, Caesar decided the calendar needed reform.
With the help of the Greek astronomer Sosigenes of Alexandria, Caesar decided to follow the solar cycle instead, a practice long observed by the Egyptians. As a result, the year was calculated to be 365¼ days long.
By adding 67 days to the calendar, the New Year started on January 1 rather than in March, as it did with the Lunar calendar. And so New Year’s Eve would fall on December 31. The last day of the new calendar.
New Year’s Eve has suffered its own existential crisis, with symptoms similar to those experienced by the humans who chart its course and start planning how to celebrate it as early as November. October in some cases.
Like humans, New Year’s Eve lost itself along the way. In the Middle Ages, the once “celebrated” evening took a leave of absence. It stayed in bed, quietly counting away the hours, hoping and praying the metaphorical phone would not ring.
Today, many a human still does this, turning in early with the help of a sleeping aid and Netflix. These brave souls are few and far between.
But the peace did not last long and in 1582, the phone rang once more. What are you doing on December 31, asked the voice on the end of the line? “Oh, nothing,” answered New Year’s Eve.
But that was not to be. The order was spelt out: you will force a smile. You will have fun. You will celebrate and plan and stress and fret. You will henceforth always be the moment at which humanity has to look deep within itself with the “support” of the pressure cooker that is merriment.
New Year’s Eve has since been the focus of intense, unwelcome attention. Armed with its special symbolism, the night of the last day of the year has become as intrinsic to human animals as the fight or flight response. A response, by the way, which is often ignored when those very animals are faced with the burning question: what are your plans for New Year’s Eve?
The question lights a fire in the hearts of those who attach profound meaning to this night. Chronological score must be kept. Glasses must be raised, strangers must be kissed at midnight and enjoyment must be had.
Towards the end of its life, New Year’s Eve had enough.
The chore of forcing humans to pretend they were having a good time eroded the smile from its face. Fake laughter laboured in its heart, heavy and remorseful. Conversations in “da clurrb” before the stroke of midnight became a torture too tough to bear, and the feet of News Year’s Eve grew heavy with the nuisance of dancing the night away.
Towards the end of its life New Year’s Eve had to sit down and take stock in a way it never had before.
New Year’s Eve knew what it would rather be doing on the last night of the calendar year. It knew what people would rather be doing instead. The joys of old sitcom reruns, in a room decorated only by pizza crusts, would bring lightness and self-love. The night saw clearly how misguided were the social pressures that forced people to do the opposite.
And just like that, New Year’s Eve took a sharp corner, turned its back on “forced fun” and drew its last breath. Only one wish passed its lips on the peaceful night of its passing; that the dreadful nightmare and pain of its existence would end for all of humanity as well.