The stage installation was still going and the surrounding area was strangely quieter than usual. Yet as one saw it, an internal turmoil was brewing. One’s mind already wandered to tomorrow’s scene: erratic crowd, unsightly fireworks and traffic jam, the prized petrol that went up in smoke, mountain of rubbish left behind, casualties, vandalized public facilities and properties, and other decadent stories.
Call one a killjoy but one never saw the merit of these celebrations. Days come and go, so do years, and so what?
Reality soon sank in. Just like previous years, one would spend the end of the year trying to go home after a live session on-air. The new year’s eve celebration and its excesses would take place. So one has got to do what one’s got to do. One’s brain started enlisting alternate routes to reach home. And one, once again, echoed the desperate plea that emerged from the depth of one’s heart when one saw the installation.
“Please. Let the rain come down hard tomorrow.”