The streets are quiet before New Year’s Eve breaks loose. Everyone else is at home preparing for a secret party that you and I haven’t been invited to. Do you remember that one? The silence before the rockets? I don’t celebrate New Year’s Eve. When I was 18 I stopped doing it. I just felt a bit outside at the time. Afraid of not being asked anywhere. I was never asked, so I stopped celebrating New Year’s Eve. I don’t celebrate, because the loneliness that arises in the pursuit of confirmation from others is the worst – in the long run. The evening comes, we hear only a little. Laughter seeps in from the streets. They are on their way to each other. They enjoy themselves together. We see it, you and I. We see it inside our heads. I don’t celebrate May 17 either. I have nothing against May 17, I am proud of our national day. But I remember the fear of not being asked anywhere. The fear that everyone wanted something I didn’t after the baby train was over. Do you remember that? That Oslo became completely quiet after the children’s train? A little drunk and then stop. Quiet. Everyone went their separate ways, or to each other’s homes. Someone needed something. Something I didn’t know what it was. Something I wasn’t asked to do. Sometimes I was asked. A desperate feeling of acceptance. When I turned 18, I didn’t care for it anymore. The same with New Year’s Eve. Exactly the same. I’m not celebrating. I just don’t want to wonder if I’m accepted. We are waiting for confirmations in the form of an invitation, although we don’t want it to be like that. We pretend it doesn’t matter. But you know, there will be some pointless attempts to have fun throughout life anyway. My last attempt at doing something on New Year’s Eve was just before I turned 30. The last time I celebrated with anyone, I dangled from a high bar stool alone in a pub in London, along with five other people who were also sitting there alone on New Year’s Eve. It was just before the year 2000. The entrance to a new millennium. New Year’s Eve of all New Year’s Eves. New Year’s Eve from Hell. I went to London alone that year, to escape all the New Year’s invitations I hadn’t received. The green shiny cardboard hat I was wearing was given to me by the kind bartender who also had a green cardboard hat. The only thing that suited me was that the gin and tonic went down easily, and I was happy about that at the time. I didn’t blow the plastic whistle I had been given. For a few years it was difficult to decide that New Year’s Eve was not for me. The fear of missing out on the secret the others had. But it was better than repeated hysterical attempts to have fun on a day with far too high expectations. And I let go of the invitations that are the most, the ones that never come. Today I know what day it is, you too, and it is up to us to make the day we want. We can’t completely opt out of big things that happen anyway. We know they happen, even if we don’t participate, but that’s perfectly fine. “Seen on TV! The king speaks!” Why do I have to ask myself that? It’s dad’s voice echoing in my head from a distant past. Do I have to? I’m trying to drop this celebration? I don’t have to. Daddy’s not here, and I’m not little. The stroke of twelve is coming. It’s going to rain in the sky. SMS: “Happy New Year, Julie! Hope all is well with you!”One more. There were only two? Why that? Before there were many more… I think? 10 more minutes. That’s all, then it’s over. Honey, New Year’s Eve is just one day. We are all together and alone about our own insecurities. Regardless of whether we are at a party or at home. Regardless of whether we are alone or with many people around us. We are, and always will be, alone together. That can be nice, too. Seasons of loneliness come and go throughout the year. New Year’s is just one of many. I like being alone, even if it’s lonely sometimes. Happy New Year and thanks for the old one!
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New Year’s Eve? No thanks – Statement
