The clock struck midnight. The sky bloomed: golden light and golden smoke. Far below we see the fireworks reflected all along the Chao Phraya. Cacophony. Everyone is screaming Happy New Year! Sawadee Pee Mai! at the top of their lungs.
We are at one of the highest floors of our hotel, trying to take pictures of the celebration. We whisper to each other Happy New Year. Soon it will be time to retire, to try and sleep as the noise of the crowds die down. We have had wine earlier, with our dinner, and perhaps some cocktails at the lounge overlooking the river before that, as the sun had set.
I remember a New Year’s countdown two decades earlier, in Berlin. My friends and I had decided to ringing in Das Neujahr in the capital. We’d even save some money, travelling on the cheap using Schönes-Wochenende (“beautiful weekend”) tickets. What could go wrong?
We ended up taking 22 hours to reach Berlin from Munich, on account of snowstorms and rail tracks made unpassable. We lost count of how many trains we had to change till we reached our destination.
Looking back, it’s like the setup for a “three men walk into a bar” joke except we were two Americans, two Italians and one Malaysian. And we got on a train. (Well, many trains.)
But there was laughter and there was music. We sang “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” by the Eurythmics with a carriage full of strangers. So much joy. So much celebration. Isn’t that the point, always?
A brand new year, a fresh start.
I tell you this story, perhaps for the umpteenth time. Every New Year’s, without fail. You never mind, or if you do, you never complain.
Hopefully this year things will be better, you say. It will be a year of wonders, I say. For isn’t every day that we are alive and well a miracle?
A year of miracles. It will be beautiful and a blessing in every way.