Gifts

The whole point of going away is sending home gifts that will confuse your family. Nothing says 'I'm in an exciting, foreign place' like a few well chosen presents that cause bewilderment and vague suspicion among the people you love. Thus my Christmas package back to England was - on this scale of measurement - highly successful.

"There's something inside it," my dad stated, shaking the little New Year tiger up and down at the webcam enthusiastically. (He's done this every time I've spoken to him since December the 25th, incidentally.) "There's definitely something inside it."

"I don't think there is," I replied (and have replied every time I've spoken to him since December the 25th). "Honestly dad."

"But it rattles," dad said in confusion. "Can I smash it and find out?"

My mum, in the meantime, was pre-occupied with making her manga jigsaw puzzle, and then standing in front of it with her head tilted to one side for a few hours.

"There's a big bottom in it," she emailed me in a hushed tone this morning (it was an email, but it was still hushed). "I mean, I know that they're a bit more laid back over there then us, but there's a big bottom in it. I don't quite know where to put it. It seems a little unsuitable for the kitchen. That's where I eat."

My sister was thrilled, yelling "it's... it's.... it's a green hamster!" at me as she ripped open the package, and then impatiently listened to the explanation ("it's a what? A cross between a green bean and a dog? That makes no sense"), while her boyfriend kept prodding his toy's stomach and saying "there's something hard in it, Hols. If you're smuggling drugs, isn't the point to tell me so I know about it?"

In all of the thrilled confusion (because they now know that I really am somewhere foreign), it was only my beloved grandparents who remained steadfast in all the chaos. "Not got the foggiest idea what it is," they emailed about the Totoro figurine I'd sent, "but we love it and it's on the mantlepiece."

One of the greatest joys of the Japanese culture is in the way it shocks the Western mentality in the best way possible. I get to feel that every single day, but I love the fact that I managed to provide a whiff of that beautiful confusion for my family, if only for a few seconds.

Romance

He came back. The boy came back.

He turned up on my doorstep - surfboard still attached to his shoulders - and told me that on New Years Eve all he could think about was how he didn't want to start a year without me in it. About how it wasn't worth celebrating if I wasn't there too. About how he wanted to end the next one with me.

That's kind of what happened, anyway.

"So," I said, after a few minutes of confused greetings (starting with: "what the hell are you doing here?"). "You miss me, huh."

"Yeah," he replied.

"And," I said - eyes softening slightly and gazing at a particularly twinkly star in the sky - "are you here because on New Years Eve all you could think about was how you didn't want a year without me in it?"

There was a pause.

"Sure," he agreed.

"Was it worth celebrating if I wasn't there too?" I asked him.

He shrugged.

"No," he affirmed.

"And I guess you want to end the next one with me, right?" I told him.

"Uhuh," he answered.

"I thought so," I said happily, pleased with how romantic the situation was. Then I frowned at him. "What else?" I added.

"Can I put my surfboard down now, please? It's hurting my back."

So I let him in, and he dumped all his stuff all over my flat and then told me it was still 'a total mess'.

"What did you do at New Year?" he asked casually, roaming around and looking worryingly like he was going to start peeing in all the corners.

"Big party," I told him without looking him in the eye, knowing he doesn't read this blog. "Huge. Massive. Maybe the biggest party in the whole world ever." Then I realised I had gone too far, and tried to pull it back a little. "One of them, anyway," I corrected. "So.... what else did you want to tell me?"

He got on his knees and poked his head in my fridge.

"Dunno," he said to a half rotten aubergine. "Guess I realised that there's nobody else like you." Then he prodded something at the back of the fridge and launched into a scolding ("seriously, how do you actually function on your own? What is this? How long has it been there? Why is it moving?").

The problem with romance is that a lot of it is in your head, and the other problem with romance is that a lot of it stays there. But when it boils down to it, what really counts? That you find someone who thinks you're like nobody else. And - with billions of people in the world, all pretty similar - that's maybe all you need.

Sister calls

"So," my sister stated on Skype this morning, "you spent New Year on your own, didn't you."

I made a few huffy puffy sounds that were neither confirmations nor rebuttals.

"Thought so," she said. "I could tell from your blog."

"I think you'll find," I said with as much dignity as I could muster, "that every point I made in the last blog post was a genuine one, and meant from the heart, thankyou very much."

"About new days and all that jazz? Sure, but you spent New Year on your own, right? You could tell. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I spent it watching television with Dan and arguing about how we never do anything exciting on New Year, which is exactly what we do every New Year, so I don't think that's much better."

"New Year," I declared firmly, "is hyped up and....". Tara looked at me on the webcam as if she would raise one eyebrow if she could (she can't). I gave up. "Yeah, I was on my own. I'm broke and everybody's off skiing. It sucked."

"Aw," Tara said: sympathetic now that I'd crumbled and confessed to being a loser. "We could have spoken last night instead. I'd have just made Dan turn the tv down."

"I turned my computer off and read Great Expectations instead," I shrugged. "And had a bath and ate cheesecake. It was alright actually."

There was a pause while my sister concentrated on looking sorry for me.

"Seriously, it was good," I insisted. "Honestly." And - honestly - it kind of was. Today is my first New Year's day without a hangover in at least ten years.

"Alright," Tara sighed unconvincingly. "But I wish you'd said something. It would have made me feel so much better to know that your New Year sucked more than mine did."

As I said goodbye - still giving my sister the finger - it occurred to me that New Year is about hoping for better, and my family is the one area of my life that I will never have to do that. Wherever I go in the world, I have people who see straight through me and my nonsense, and aren't afraid to call me on it.

And that, as far as I'm concerned, makes every year a good one.

Begin Again

While Christmas, to me, represents magic and family and hopes, New Year - in all honesty - means pretty much nothing. It's another night, and another day, and the only thing that really changes is the calendar.

I've never really understood it: the expectations of New Year; the resolutions; the celebration. It seems like the hopes of the world are pinned on one night (spread, as has been very tangible this year, over multiple time zones), and on the chance to start all over again, and change, or be somebody better, or have something better. And yes, it's a good excuse for a party or to be with people you love, but people really shouldn't need excuses for that. They should be able to do it with equal enthusiasm at any time of the year.

The point is: none of us need a New Year, when every day is a New Day. Every morning is the start of something; a brand new chance to improve yourself, to begin again, to cast off yesterday and have hope in the person you can be today. To resolve to be better, to do better, to think better. To stop bad habits, and find love, or get a better job, or simply behave with a little more kindness. That resolve - those resolutions - can happen every single morning, as soon as you open your eyes, and a new year means nothing when all it really consists of is 365 new days. Days to start again, even if you fail the day before.

The New Year is symbolic, but its symbolism is flawed. We don't get one chance a year to begin again: we get much, much more than that. And while it's harder to drink champagne to that every morning, it means so much more. You can be whoever you want to be the minute you open your eyes, and a calendar doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. A new start is there for everybody whenever they want it.

So: Happy New Year, everybody. And - much more importantly - Happy New Day.