Fireworks!
My New Year frame of mind.
I left my apartment at six in the evening on Wednesday the 31st of December. I was on the way to my girlfriend’s apartment to celebrate New Year’s Eve with her and a handful of her university friends. Though my immediate neighbourhood isn’t especially busy, it is very central. The biggest public New Year’s Eve event in Berlin, Celebrate at the Gate (the Brandenburger Gate, a city landmark), took place so nearby that the police gave us notice that our road would be closed for in order to limit public traffic. As I crossed that road and neared the train station, I found myself flinching. Every second there came a loud crack or boom. I looked up. I knew that the noise was fireworks, but I couldn’t see any. On the eight minute walk to the train station, several hours before midnight, I heard several dozen thunderous explosions fracture the sky, but saw almost no glittery lights set against the dark, cloudy Berlin night. Had I seen the sparks, perhaps my impression would have been a wonderful one. But without the dancing colour to assure me that each bang was joyous, my initial emotional reaction was fear. There was a constant barrage of roaring noises, each originating from a new point in the sky, with no apparent pattern. I felt like a bewildered animal. I felt, though I seldom do, like an out-of-place African, overwhelmed by a big European City.
In the last week of December in Germany, fireworks are freely available for public purchase—I would see them for sale in every grocery store and kiosk. It’s then legal for any member of the public to set off any number of those fireworks all day and all night on December 31st and January 1st. There are also very few restrictions as to where fireworks can be set off. It is prohibited to light fireworks near hospitals, churches, retirement homes or any building with a thatch roof. Some historical and public areas are also off limits. However, those restrictions only apply to a minuscule percentage of Berlin. For most people on most streets, it’s totally legal (if not encouraged) to light a firework or two, even on the sidewalk in front of your apartment building. That seemed to be the most common choice. Just after midnight, my girlfriend, her friends and I all left our private party to tour the streets and watch the thousands of fireworks being launched in her neighbourhood. My reaction to the noise was better, this time, now that I could see many of the people setting off fireworks. My eyes could track the fuse as it burned and the rocket as it flew twenty metres into the sky, before bursting into a thousand litte points of brilliant light. The fear subsided and joy and excitement lit me up. As I watched the people around me begin to crowd, though, and as I saw fireworks drunkenly set off without caution; hitting apartment windows and car doors; being shot into a headwind only to return to the ground and explode on the pavement; hundreds of disused cardboard boxes, some of which were on fire, littering the street, I began to feel the hesitation stiffen my body again.
Usually, I take joy in the changing of the years. I have a fond memory of holidaying in a small loft in Hermanus with my parents one New Year. I read the novels I’d been meaning to read for months before and reflected on the year behind me. I also looked ahead. I made a list of goals, dreams and ideas for the year ahead that addressed a few different aspects of my life. I enjoy the cyclical process of parting with the old and welcoming the new. This year feels different. I’m walking into the year with no job and more debt than I’ve ever had. I have to vacate my room by the end of February. Making a list of books I want to read and swearing off carbs feels laughable. How can I aim to strive when surviving is presenting such a challenge?
I think that the year ahead of me is probably very similar to that firework show I was treated to on New Year’s Eve. There is potential to see either joy and excitement or fear and hesitation. Neither outlook is more reasonable than the other. The challenge, I believe, is to keep my eyes focused on the colourful sparkles of hope and possibility, and to try my best to ignore the ground-shaking claps of fear.
We tried to light a few small crackers ourselves, but it was so windy that we quickly gave up. We were the only ones, clearly. If you enjoyed this journal, please subscribe.