So, It's a New Year's Eve... Again...

I think I have a love-hate relationship with new year eves.

As a little girl, I'd look forward to watching the festivities in our apartment- running around from the living room to the dining room back to the kitchen, just following the clatter of wine glasses, passed hors d'oeuvres in a smokey haze of 'adults' talking with louder voices, exploding with unexpected laughter, bare arms flirtatiously touching each other, and more laughter... I thought this was the best time of the year- ever... I'd get to sip from my parents' glasses, eat off of passing trays of food before they even left the kitchen. Guests patting my head, admiring how much I've grown, how pretty I looked in my outfit,...

Sometimes other kids would be involved- we would put together little plays for each other, try to display our knowledge of 'adult' topics (after all, this was the era of Dallas and Falcon's Crest), and maybe, play a board game or two until one of the 'older' kids would decide to break free and mingle with the adults. We thought he was 'cool'.

Then there were those new year eves, where I'd sit with my grandparents, watch the festivities on the television, speculate about the outfits of the singers, and nibble on food. I'd read from some of the old magazines stacked on shelves, make small conversation with their guests, and drink a glass of something bubbly at 12 midnight. The phone call from my parents would follow to say happy new year's, and perhaps, to check up on me. I wouldn't see them until the next afternoon.

In my teenage years and early 20s, tagged along with Mom, I would go from one store to another, looking for that perfect outfit, perfect shoes, and even more perfect accessories. We would go to the hairdresser's on that day, and based on the year, we would ask him to make our hair wavy or blow dry straight, or give that little trim that would prepare for the new year's eve. All throughout these activities, I would anticipate who I would kiss first: my boyfriend, if I had one that year, or maybe a new boy who would become one, at least for the night... I'd try to think where it would be... Would we be standing on the balcony overlooking the Bosphorus, or would we be amongst the huge crowd of people at the night venue with confetti showering over our heads?

I remember a particular new year's eve: Breaking out of our families' party (no one wanted to hang out with adults anymore!) and ditching her younger sister, a childhood friend and I went out to a 'hip' spot with a birds eye view of the city. Transported in her little Beetle, she gave me heads up on which guy we were meeting was her intended 'boyfriend'; and of course, he had a 'friend' that I might like. He already knew about me. Over the years, I really tried to block out this evening from memory- just the sight of that guy makes me queasy; the only part I kept with me is the (short) time I got to spend with my girlfriend, giggling like we always did when together... She passed away about five years after that new year's eve.

I have been recounting all these priceless memories of new year's eves: From a 'boyfriend' who called his mother before kissing me at midnight, the one who hugged it out with his guy friends before even finding me on the balcony, the one who was documented kissing another girl while I was waiting for him at another party, the one who called at midnight to be forgiven, the one who never forgave me for kissing his friend...

So, over the past years, I've managed to tone down my expectations and learned not to anticipate any drama to happen. And as 2008 turned into 2009, I was at peace with new year's eve: A sip of cold Prosecco and a delightful kiss at midnight.

Happy 2009.