The Math of December

Posted: December 8, 2013 by jennroig in Chronicles, English, Miscellaneous, Women don't Cry
Tags: , , ,

68870I’ve never liked December, way too much fuzz for me. It brings what I loath and fear, it drives people to shopping sprees, it leads to crazy spikes in energy consumption because of all the lights and Christmas trees, it fuels by the way the nonsense rhetoric of “war on Christmas”, and I can’t avoid making math in my head, balancing where I’m standing against where I think I should be. It brings memories too. Tell me about something more paralyzing at times than memories. Memories and Hope.

Remember Pandora’s box? That box contained all the pains and evils of this world and Hope was at the bottom. Only Hope could be that powerful, strong enough to hang in there, to hold the weight of every other misery.  When I was a child, adults sold me a misleading interpretation of the myth. People told me that Hope was the cure, the antidote for the evils. That interpretation is wrong. Any respected scholar will tell that Greeks identify Hope with a negative feeling, a deceitful one when led humans to believe that things could be under their control.

2013 has been an ugly year for me. I have mourned the death of strangers and close friends. Aaron Swartz killed himself in his Brooklin flat. Ying took her life jumping from a building in Beijing. This year I am a estranged daughter. I’m also missing the answers from a lover who vanished into thin air dragged by his own ghosts. I’ve lost work opportunities. I’ve been crippled, unable to move on at so many levels and hiding from the loved ones because I don’t want them to see. Out there people  may have gotten married and traveled and started new jobs and contemplated the universe from space. But here everything has been tiny and time has run so slow. This December my maths should be horrible.

And then this year 2013, Nelson Mandela died on December 5th. He was 95 and sick, so no shock in his death. I would have liked to be Mandela’s friend. He was a man of missing meanings. Married three times, shady friends like Castro and Gaddafi, but the inspiration against Apartheid, the icon, the living evidence that sometimes impossible tasks are within humans’ hands.

For some reason, even though my December’s maths do suck, the fear I loath doesn’t bite me yet. This time I’m finding some secret pleasure in the fact that the year is actually ending. A new chapter could be open with the new year, a cycle could be closed. And I know Hope is there, waiting at the end, at the bottom, to make believe. And that’s what “it’s in the nature” means I guess, believing once more that things could turn just fine this time.


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