Ringing in the New Year
Old divides with new figureheads
Written by Madison Targum, Contributing Writer
Illustrated by Nicole Glesinger, Staff Graphic Artist
A countdown begins and in mere seconds our illusions relapse with the abrupt sound of pop from a champagne bottle. The heat from the stark familiar lights above engulf your surroundings in an acidic prism. The ghosts of the past slowly evaporate. Normally they linger; they are the spirits that leave us feeling suffocated and trapped. Their presence dominates the air we breathe.
This past year was in its entirety about breathing. Balancing the push and pull of a country divided. Something suspicious, a scent of deceit and lack of decency drifted in the winds of chaos. Trapped within the fragile state of our own homes, bedrooms and kitchens felt tighter. The head figures we saw speaking for the nation on our television screens resembled children playing a game of scrabble. Scrambling to find the words to explain current events, rushing to find the answers through a blame game.
Time has exposed the bitter irony that propels us Americans to triumph on the feeling of dissatisfaction. The underdog, the patriot. We thrive off the idea of fighting for something bigger than ourselves, even when the original message gets washed over with waves of corruption and opposing ways of life become your scapegoat to head to the battle field.
Our eardrums are blocked by the loud screams of those who were born with an entitled voice box. Normally confetti blurs our vision with vibrancy. But this year the pain that is usually suppressed within communities that do not have the luxury to throw confetti in the new year drowns everyone with tears in the ballroom.
Clarity. It sets in when we can no longer desensitize ourselves to the fact that the list of party goers on the eve of all eves is exclusive. You have to have a look that encompasses some sort of social capital. You got to know the lingo, you have to have the look. If you fidget within yourself and a stutter disrupts the flow in your small talk you feel exiled to insecurity.
The underlying force of our nation’s polarization provokes a hunger for peace. So the list of the party expands, so much so that the man and woman running the door are polar opposites. One resembling old America, white and male. The other is a daughter of immigrants. Maybe this is a sign, the ghosts are evaporating and we can soon breathe again.