There are many wishes that we carry every year for every year that comes naturally and without permission, after we have put down all our hideous epithets in the year that passes, and they are the ones on which we pinned our hopes. Not all of the years that we bid farewell to were bad, nor did all of the years that we were waiting for with passion and longing bring us the wishes we gave them, even if they were sometimes unrealistic and illogical.
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It is not easy for us to realize that every moment that passes will not return again, to join the cosmic race in its renewal cycle over the course of the succession of years, and it is the year of communication between a past that is no longer but memories, and a present that lasts only for moments, and a future that none of us knows what it holds. It has surprises, whether pleasant or sad.
This dialectic existing between the cycle of days, between sunrise and sunset, is what gives meaning to our past through a series of lives that passed quickly, as if what we lived years ago was like yesterday that passed. But the sweetest thing about this past is that we had loved ones in it who became a memory and a song that was not composed by a poet or composed by a musician. The most beautiful thing about the present is that it is a bridge of “air ropes” linking what has passed and what is to come.
These are some of the thoughts I gathered from experiences gathered over a seventy-year-old journey that painted in my conscience images that only come to me in my dreams. In this conscience, there is an endless race between what is fleeting and what is far beyond the beating of a heart and a sigh released in the movement of inhalation and exhalation.
I was asked what I hope for in the year 2024, and my answer was not the same as it was in the years that passed. All I can hope for is that it is not new, but rather used. The Sunnah used has informed us of its good and its bad. If I had to choose, I would only choose two years: 1982 and 2004. I reserve for myself and for those I care about these two years the “gifts” that took me away from the calendar monotony and gave my life the true meaning of this fleeting existence for everyone who breathes oxygen, which keeps them alive. This is what is meant by an expression we use often, which is “until the last breath,” without stopping at its existential connotations.
When the hands of the clock embrace each other at midnight on December 31 and January 1, a year in which many disappointments have been many ends, and a new year begins. We will burden it more than it can bear, in the game of escaping from a bitter reality into the unknown, which after 365 days will join the club of lost and lost days in the so-called past. These are days that will only bring back memories, whether beautiful or ugly, happy or sad.
At this time every year, loved ones exchange congratulations and wishes and repeat expressions that have begun to lose their meaning due to the frequency of repetition, including: “God willing, the coming year will be better than the last.” At the end of each year, the “last year” is bid farewell and the “coming” is welcomed… And so the days go by, and they are similar to those that came before them, if not worse, and the cycle of disappointments repeats itself, placing the truth on the astronomers, and how many of them are these days, and attacking the unseen may be a kind of Types of escaping reality, just as resorting to metaphysics that is not related to the inevitabilities of life. All days are similar, with the responsibilities they entail, and the burdens and worries that haunt us from dawn until dawn, seeking a living made with sweat and sometimes often with blood. Only the calendar days change, in the mill of time that will not go back. What has passed is past, and what is coming becomes a prisoner of the hands of the clock, so today becomes yesterday, and tomorrow turns its page to become the child of its hour, and turns into a day that enters the hierarchy of descending counts in the process of numerical accumulations. Because the time machine does not stop, there is a lot of circumvention of the cycle of days, and there are many wishes that are often unfulfilled and cannot be compared with what is sensual and lived, so what is hoped for becomes mixed with ambitions that seek prohibitions to justify goals, so corruption spreads, chaos spreads, and inherited proverbs become part of the system of life. Including the ugliness of reality. I do not mean to bid farewell to one year sadistically to receive another pessimistically. Rather, I try to capture the moment that does not repeat itself with great care for it, so that the successive seconds come different from those that preceded them, to the rhythm of intermittent inhalations and exhalations, and to the tunes of the symphony of fate. And because in these moments the clock strikes its final beat to announce the end of a passing year and the arrival of a new year, I end these lines hoping that the new year will not be similar to the past year. So as not to go back to the beginning of the similarities.
happy New Year.
