archives, fiction

This New Year, I Wish for Nothing. {fiction}


The following is written from a young male narrator’s perspective during the holidays.


Dear New Year,

I am sorry I have not been taught to believe in Santa and its magic as everyone else. Growing up as someone who keeps her strong feet on the ground, I made my own rules based on real life, tough life, not bad life. I would call it astringent. Astringent as wines. You know, wines that are astringent are not necessarily bad. To me, Santa is like a hologram. I hate holograms.

So, you are my Santa and I have been writing you since ever but never had the courage to send this letter. You have always been my one to fall back on when everything falls apart, especially now in this time of the year, when the walls of this house seem to collapse all around me. You know it better than me, this happens every year this time around.

Last year I wished for life and happiness, and it went almost all the way down. But, who said that god wants to see us happy?

Actually, this year I wish for nothing. I wish for nothing at all. Let me reiterate, so you can feel my confidence: I wish for nothing! Impressive, isn’t it?

Trust me, it is hard for someone like me to get impressed, especially by myself.

Remember the previous year? I wished to be around celebrating on these round tables where they eat, smile, laugh and smile and drink and laugh… for real, in a warm place, in a warm home. I prayed to hear some sincere words, wishes, getting a warm hug like the one you get before going to bed when you are a kid. I never had it either.

I would get one maybe, just maybe if all my grades would be perfect, like a little reward for the grades because if you would have good grades he would be proud enough to say he is my son, who will become the doctor I could not be. Though I have had perfect grades all my life, I cannot count as many kisses and hugs as their reward either. I guess math gets pretty bad in real life.

Good news: this time I feel nothing. Recently I have read that a mother who lost her four boys during the war keeps having a dinner table for four all time. She keeps waiting for them to come home. So maybe this night she is still waiting around a full table in an empty room such as mine.

The homeless kids… right now I bet they are getting some little gifts from the ones who visit these kids only this time of the year just to get some pictures to put on social media to look cool, to reach the standard of getting entitled in the society of charity. I know it hurts to hear some truths, and if you speak it out loud you are out, but someone has to say it. This life is harsh.

I still do not have the right word to describe this last year of mine. I am not ready to do so, and I guess that word has not been invented yet, and honestly I am not in the mood to invent it myself. One day maybe I will. At least I traveled to four countries last year, which isn’t pretty bad considering the inconsistent equation of my life.

I did explore so many locations and bars, and guess what? I did beat my own record of hopping two bars within ten minutes. My favorite color is still black and my guilty pleasure is still colorful. At least this pair will never change. I have been told enthusiasm is not a professional word, with which I totally disagree. I will have it through my entire lifetime.

I have been bullied, shamed, never welcomed, but I do not care. In the loving eyes of my cat, I look lovely though I know I am going to leave. I have discovered new authors I totally adore. I still fall in love nine times per day and fall out of it ten times. I am at peace though having troubles with god, but who said god doesn’t want us messy?

I got two more tattoos and dozens more of bad decisions. One more… I knew it was a bad decision to turn back to the broken place where you’d get even more broken or void, and it makes you realize escaping was a waste of time. Some things can never heal. Some souls might always be December.

To the ones who are having the time of their life: Cheers!

To those who are finding themselves in between the lines: You are not alone!

PS: This time I have plenty of courage. I am not going to tear the letter. I am sending it off, right here, right now.


Gerta Kapllani is a Civil Society activist born in Albania. She is extremely passionate about human nature and fighting for violence against women and children. She is in love with details, and feels they are what make the biggest difference in life. She also loves music, traveling, fashion, being classy, and is definitely an animal-lover. To Gerta, the safest place in this world is in her mother’s arms, where she finds peace and serenity. She considers herself a harmony of contrasts, and believes that a beautiful life is composed of big dreams, good music and expensive tastes.


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