The Year Turns Again, Nastenka

(Going Home by Tom Roberts, 1889)

Forgive me for using your name again, Nastenka. In understanding you, it requires time and full of effort. I’ve read and reread your story countless times, repeating every word. Damn it, that man described you with such depth. Maybe that’s why I feel proud when I can finally understand you, maybe. After all, Nastenka, it’s been more than a hundred years since that man immortalized your story, and more than a hundred years since he left you, truly left you, forever. So, I hope you won’t mind if I call upon your name again.

Nastenka, the year has turned again.

I once read on social media, though I can’t remember who wrote it, that stepping into this new year, when people start cheering, blowing trumpets, and lighting fireworks, is the moment when the distance to the year 2050 is now the same as the distance back to the year 2000.

The words seem ordinary enough, but I read it with a strange feeling, Nastenka. It turns out we’ve come this far. I’m not saying 2050 is the end of everything, but looking back at all the years that have passed, I realize there’s so much we’ve been through. So many things we’ve fought for, whether we achieved them or not, things that have made us wither and bloom because of them.

My beautiful Nastenka, isn't it true that every January shows dreams, while every December reveals reality? It’s no wonder people are always full of hope and resolutions when entering a new year. Some hope for a brighter future, while others just want to heal from the pain of the past.

There are so many stories in each year. There are those whose smiles grow wider when March comes, those whose prayers become more fervent as June comes to an end, those who eagerly await the rains of November, and those who cannot sleep when December begins. Every month brings laughter and happiness; otherwise, then cruel tears and suffering lie within. Even, Nastenka, for some people, a single moment in one day of their lives can overshadow all the memories of an entire year.

And me? I’m not sure, Nastenka. I don’t want to open everything up. There are things I’d rather not share, not here. But no matter how tightly I lock those things away, I always feel like you can slip through the cracks and uncover what I’d rather keep hidden.

But let’s leave that be. After all, I’m writing this not for myself, but for you, for those who are hopeful that the coming year will bring greater success than before, and for those foolish enough to bravely face even greater misfortunes waiting for them.

My sweet-lipped and soft-eyed Nastenka, happy new year.

To close this letter, I want to quote one of the wishes from the person who first told your story, the one who made your name always linger in my mind,

"May your sky always be clear, may your dear smile always be bright and happy, and may you be forever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of one's life?"