No One is Alone on New Year’s Eve
“Maybe it’s all worth it just for this. For the chance to see what the world looked like pristine. For the chance to understand why twinkle is such an apt word. For the chance to wish on a shooting star and believe that my hopes for the future will come true.”
By Isaac, 8-12 watch
There is a strange, unifying ambiance surrounding New Year’s Eve. For perhaps the only time all year, there is a sense of oneness around the world, as everyone, regardless of everything else, waits for that moment of culmination or change that is brought by the clock hitting midnight. Some may be looking back fondly on the year, happy finally with how things are going. Others are relieved that the year is over. Regardless, there is a sense of anticipation felt across the world, whether consciously or subconsciously, a reminder that all of us on this planet are going forward together.
Except, for us on the cruise, we are strangely alone. As we steamed away from the final islands we expect to see on the trip, there remains only the saturated, deep blue of the water in every direction. There is barely even a feeling of significance to the date: we are physically further than we have ever been from NYE festivities and the rest of humanity. It’s hard not to feel detached, and even a bit lonely.
After dinner, (which included black-eyed peas for good luck) we all go out onto the deck and watch the sunset. It is beautiful and enrapturing, the vibrancy of the water complementing the delicate brilliance of the sky, but it is also melancholy. It is a reminder that we are far from home, floating detached from any other piece of humanity.
The sun disappears behind the clouds on the horizon, and one by one, stars begin to blink into view as darker shades creep into the sky. The radiance they offer is a welcome distraction from my thoughts and the seas, which become only more imposing as darkness sets in.
We sit, talking quietly or simply observing, as the transition from sunset to nighttime gets underway. Along the course of the cruise, we have already gone through so many unexpected hurdles, and the flashes of lightning piercing the inky skies are a reminder that there are more storms ahead.
I lay on the deck, surrounded by my peers, who have gone through the same long journey as me. I reflect on how they have been with me not only on this trip, but for the last 4 years struggling through the impossible challenges of OCEAN 285 exams and trying to take notes in OCEAN 310. I consider that we are forever bonded by the fact that we have never lived in a world without the impending doom of climate change, and rather than despair, we have each committed to a career that will, in some small way, allow us to work to overcome that threat. I am glad that everyone is here today to ground me in this ethereal, nostalgic world.
A shooting star streaks across the sky, but instead of calling it out, I keep it to myself and think:
“Maybe it’s all worth it just for this. For the chance to see what the world looked like pristine. For the chance to understand why twinkle is such an apt word. For the chance to wish on a shooting star and believe that my hopes for the future will come true.”
Tonight, and for every night, we must forge on through the dark waves, and always gaze towards the sea of stars above us.
“Maybe it’s all worth it just for this. For the chance to see what the world looked like pristine. For the chance to understand why twinkle is such an apt word. For the chance to wish on a shooting star and believe that my hopes for the future will come true.”
