Goodbye 2010

It is that time again. Somewhere between Christmas and New Year's eve, I start getting all edgy and restless. It's time to take stock, and I don't do that well at all. I dislike this sense of pending closure to the year. It's not a dislike that stems from a fear of all years coming to an end and death looming mercilessly. It's more like these five-odd days are a sort of efficiency gauge - you were given 365 days, what the hell did you do with them?

And that's where the sinking of the heart starts. Month by month I start marking the list - lost, lost, lost, time lost, never to be experienced again, gone. The list goes something like this:

January: prepared self (read fretted and worried ceaselessly) over resuming work = time lost

February: fell horribly ill = time lost

March: enjoyed work (who in their right mind enjoys work - what nonsense) = time lost due to insanity

You get the picture.

By the time I reach August, I'm ready for a stiff drink. By the time I reach December, with any luck, I'm giggling thanks to the booze. If I happen to be doing this exercise with family or friends, it can be a hilarious, fun-filled method of spending a couple of hours.

I was hoping to be able to do some sensible postmortem for 2010. But it ain't going to happen. If there ever was a year that completely bowled me over, and not in the nice, princess-like fashion, then it is this one. It started on the wrong note, continued giving one nasty surprise after another, and is now leaving with some more serious unpleasantness. Someone very close to me got made redundant two days before Christmas. There was no sign, not one. It came out of the blue and hit where it hurts most.

How do you then assess the 365 you got given? I did x,y,z but... Shit happens. That appears to be everyone's favorite phrase these days. It's supposed to take care of everything, from a miscarriage to nuclear weapons. I must confess, I detest that expression. It's almost as if by using that expression one blurs the line between right and wrong, and suddenly, in this world of 'shit happens' everything is permissible. I don't want my children to grow up in a world where a hug and a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear are replaced by 'shit happens'.

We are all sticking together then. Cooking, cleaning, eating, thinking, breathing together. My grandmother used to say when things go horribly wrong, it's best to huddle close and tight. That's what we are doing. Because it feels like the only natural, normal thing to do.

And we are hoping. That 2011 will be kinder. And a gentle nurse for the hurtful wounds. Because you have to hope. Because after family, hope is everything.

The children are fighting

There's blood on the streets. Once again, politics, economics, and the failure of the systemic confluence of the two is being played out in the open, in the freezing cold this time, on the roads we take every day. It is young blood again. The one that has the courage to brave the weather, and the conviction that protests can change the world.

As I see images of kids, young adults, children of parents waiting anxiously back home, get beaten by the police, my heart is sinking. I am reminded, painfully, of a time when students went protesting, furious with political decisions, determined to change the future by their actions of the day. It all went horribly wrong. It didn't take us long to forget that mothers and fathers lost their children. They probably had hopes for them. And loved them dearly.

In a different part of the world, yes, but the strength of emotions is identical.

Youngsters are being told to get out of their dreamworlds and face today's hard reality. Where is this going to go? They are now talking about trust - trust in politics, trust in politicians, trust in the political structures. They are talking about lies, about broken promises. I am surprised that people are surprised - but then I'm an old cynic. What an eye opener for all those young girls and boys, battling batons and shields, kicks and shoves. Youth refuses to listen. Some lessons are learnt the hard way.

As we sit in our warm living rooms, debating to death in the studios, pacing the length of the front courtyard waiting for the kids to get back home, how are we going to look them in the eye? While we sit and argue about feasibility of systems and entertain ourselves with indulgent blame-games, the children are still fighting. A fight that, perhaps, they should have had more support for.

But we are wiser. Older and wiser. Let us just wait for the kids to get back home, and in time they shall become wise like us.