As the clock strikes twelve, corks pop, fireworks scatter across the sky, and the world pretends to agree on the magic of a new beginning. But have you ever paused to wonder why we get so excited about a page flipping on a calendar? January 1st has no cosmic importance—just another sunrise, another lap in this endless waltz of time. It’s a bit like celebrating the 5,879th circle you’ve walked around your coffee table—arbitrary, but oddly satisfying.
Philosophers, of course, never let a party pass without questions. Is time a line? A circle? Or just an illusion we’re all tricked into? While the rest of us raise champagne glasses, some thinker out there is probably sighing that we’re cheering for another spin in a dance that never ends. I like that image though—the Earth as a ballroom floor, us tiny dancers spinning whether we know the steps or not.
History isn’t any clearer. Not everyone celebrates on this night. The Chinese wait for their lunar rhythm, India celebrates dozens of “new years” with flowers, lamps, or drums. Once upon a time, the year began in March. Imagine New Year’s confetti mixed with jasmine blossoms instead of frost. In Hindu thought, time itself is a wheel, rolling on endlessly, giving us festivals not just to drink but to align, cleanse, remember.
But then comes social media, and suddenly time is less a wheel and more a catwalk. You’re not just living the new year—you’re posting it, polishing it, competing in the glitter war of midnight selfies. Everyone’s yacht looks shinier than your sofa. Your pajama-clad self watching reruns suddenly feels like failure.
And beneath it all, there’s commerce grinning in the corner. Champagne sold, gym memberships booked, resolution journals stacked in shop windows. January is the biggest festival for businesses—we bring the confetti, they count the coins.
So what is this night, really? Maybe just a strange fusion of history, myth, longing, and marketing. And yet—despite all that—I like the idea of millions of people, from Kerala’s backwaters to Dubai’s skyscrapers, choosing to pause together, even if for arbitrary reasons. A collective breath, a toast to beginnings we may or may not keep. Maybe the meaning doesn’t lie in the calendar at all but in the moment we choose to stop, look around, and promise ourselves a little joy.
So here’s to less pressure, more pleasure, and the simple wonder of being here to see another dawn. 🥂✨
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