It’s 10 minutes to midnight. The air is hot and humid, the bar is crowded with sweaty bodies. The bands have just changed and a reggae group plays their first song. I start to look at the time more often since 2017 is approaching swiftly. Could you be loved, and do love. It’s 7 minutes to 2017.
Probably the first new year since ages, that I am alone amongst all others.
On my left, a tall girl appears. Long brown hair, flip flops, nicely shaped feet, nose ring. I like nose rings. She dances, like everybody does. I look at my clock, she peaks over my shoulder 23.57. We are both excited by the time. I said to her: ”I hope the band stops in time for midnight.“ She smiles, blows some air and says “I don’t care”. 3 magic words, that struck me like lightning. Why am I, with my compulsive Western performance culture, worried that we might miss the exact timing of the new year? What in me, tells me that’s important. It’s not, it really doesn’t matter.
We introduce ourselves, her name is Lou. A French accent floods my ears. We continue the dance. The band is still playing, like they don’t care too. I take another look at the time. It’s 23.59. Lou is happy. The band is still playing. The minute lasts long. The band stops and asks if somebody has an iPhone. I look at the time. It says 00.00. The room is confused. Lou and I look at eachother, we laugh for a few seconds. We hug a new year. The band starts to count down. We follow Lou’s law. We don’t care, happy new year.