2019 has arrived.
And to me, she seems to be as deceiving as her sisters 2018 and 2017, looking very promising and all that.
She’s already got her name printed on new diaries, calendars, astrology websites and so on. The lady looks so glorious, attired in a robe of hope. People plead her to be peaceful, I observe. Many dictate her to be prosperous, a few ask her to bring success and some insist her to be healthy. The woman just nods her head affirmatively though she knows she is going to simply stand there and watch these clowns entertain her.
But, wait. Is 2019 the one actually leading us on? Or are we driving ourselves into such illusions once every 365 days and giving each one a different name? Einstein was right when he said, “Stupidity has no limits.” Perhaps, that’s why we name years in numbers; lest, we might have possibly run out of names by now.
In my opinion, 2019 is a very rational person. The lady’s busy relishing the attention and reliving every compliment she’s been receiving, because she is prescient enough to know that she’ll be branded cruel, unfortunate, et cetera in fewer than 8 months and that the crown shall be passed on to 2020 in no time. She is carefree, nonchalant, seems to live in the moment and take life as it comes. She is anything but serious. You can count on her for anything, except benevolence. Her care-o-meter needle is stuck at zero.
Anyhow, one incidence says otherwise. Amidst a million people pleading her to be kind and generous, I heedlessly whispered, “Time is a man made illusion and 2019 is a joke”. “You are sane. How did you get stuck in this planet? You ought to be taken seriously. Happy New Year!”, a seemingly perplexed 2019 said.
That was quite uncalled for, though. Rebels really do receive a lot of respect.
Happy “A specific day you’ve appointed for helping you get rid of your own bad habits so that you can stop ruining your own life”!