“New year, new beginning? Maybe it’s just me, but I think it kind of deserves to be called the mother of all clichés, everybody’s shared self-promise that everybody breaks and then remakes when the calendar changes again.” This idea rolled around a small thought balloon that tumbled out of my reeling mind, 3AM of the first day of the year, when I was sitting on my bed. “But if you come to think of it,” I mused, “it’s not a bad cliché at all.”
Because, you know, it’s not bad at all when people want to make themselves better in the next 365 days of their lives, when they set mental maps to reach their goals. It just irks me a little when it seems to be the trend to wait for new year and announce to everyone they will begin to make changes in their lives. Like it will kill them to change or set goals in the middle of the year or something.
Anyway, that’s just my two cents. I’m not here to rant; I’m here for a toast. For what, you ask? New year, new beginning? Hahaha, naw. Just for being alive. Just for being home—not the place, but the people and memories that wrap me in them to make me feel safe and sound. Just for being me, breathing, living, a being with hundreds of tomorrows. A toast to all the people who, like me, just wanted someone to toast with, someone who wants to celebrate being alive. Care to join me? Don’t worry, you won’t get an agonizing hangover from this. :)
Raise your metaphorical glass, my friend!
Here’s a toast to the people who believe in the beauty of their dreams, dreams they make both while sleeping and while wide awake.
Here’s to the people who are not afraid anymore to try the things that once frightened them, with the acknowledgement that these will make them stronger and better.
Here’s to the people who wet their pillows with their tears, exhausted but still getting up from the bed with hopes clutched to their hearts—hopes with names starting with “everything will be okay” and ending with “because I’ll make it so.”
Here’s to the people who knew you have to be lost in order to be found.
Here’s to the people who believe that losing a battle does not automatically mean losing the war.
Here’s to the people who author their lives, the young ones who drew the lines on their palms—all the paths they’ll take and all the choices they’ll make, the destiny that no horoscope could ever predict.
Here's to the ladies who still believe in fairytales but know they don't need Princes Charming to save them, that they can fight their own dragons if needed.
Here's to the men who still sport the cavalry of knights-in-shining armors but know they're not in a bedtime story, that sometimes they needed to be saved, too.
Here’s to the boys who have their hearts broken and found out they can’t repair them with the same ease as fixing pipe leaks, the boys who cry and don’t care if the world sees them, because they know it’s a strength to show weakness.
Here’s to the girls who are nursing broken hearts beneath their bright smiles, the girls who are strong enough to reassemble all the fallen pieces with their own hands and stronger still to be able to love again.
Here’s to the boys and girls who laugh through the hurt when life throws them a sick joke, those who recognize the small sweet moments sandwiched between the bigger bitter problems.
Here’s to the kids who bury their noses in John Green’s books and realize they are reading about themselves from the very first pages.
Here’s to the kids who wish they were born in another generation while listening to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Here’s to the people who firmly believe that the things we hang onto tell more about us than the things we've been through.
Here’s to the dreamers who scraped their knees while chasing their dreams but never forget to kneel and pray, to thank God for the power they still have to run again.
Here’s to the dreamers who don’t believe in god, but do in the power of karma, of their gut feel, of their actions, of their destinies—their own compasses in their own journeys.
Here’s to the students who knew that the best lesson they can learn in school is that the best lesson cannot be learned in school.
Here’s to the likes of that guy who bops his head to the private soundtrack of his life, not caring if he is out of sync with everyone else because he’s happy hearing the music he’s swaying to.
Here’s to the likes of that lady who basks herself in the noise of life and the city, but follows the rhythm of her own heartbeat because that’s the only sound that can lead her to true happiness.
Here’s to the kids who refuse to be boxed by society’s standards, to be tagged, to be labeled, to be judged, to be stereotyped.
Here’s to the kids who prefer to spend time with fictional characters from books and TV shows than with other kids.
Here’s to the kids who find company in solitude, and to the kids who find solitude in the crowd.
Here’s to the boys who like girls, boys who like boys, and boys who like girls who think it’s okay for boys to like boys.
Here’s to the girls who like boys, girls who like girls, and girls who like boys who think it’s okay for girls to like girls.
Here’s to everyone who takes being called weird as a compliment.
Here’s to everyone whose haircut and clothes and shoes are old-fashioned, and doesn’t give a damn whatever other people would say about it.
Here’s to us, so different from each other but still so the same. Raise your glass for a future yet to be unfolded, for the pedestals yet to be climbed.
You are you, and that fact alone is worth celebrating. Cheers!