This is my December, This is all so clear

This is my December, This is my snow covered home

This is my December, This is me alone"  

- Linkin Park

December. A word that softly brushes upon the old stacked memories of my life, leaving them disturbed.

The reason I find this month to be most touching to me is because of the potential it brings every time I switch my calendar from November.

In every past December, I made resolutions. One month long resolutions. Resolutions to make myself better. All sorts of plans were conceived in my brain in the past years and Decembers to achieve something, something great, something worth, something. But, I failed, most of the time.

Every time, I yielded to the cold that grew around me, that crept on my sides, that numbed my bones. I hid myself under the warm blankets, beneath the warm shawls, upon the cozy bedding, within the gloves, socks and sweaters. I gave myself to laziness, procrastination and slumber. All those goals that were set to be accomplished in the most dormant month of the year, when everyone else was at rest, were lost.

But I hope, not this time. I am in much worse condition of cold weather this time in this new land. As I walk down the road, I find the grass has grown still and white at the top, the road is dominated by scattered flurries of snow, the rooftops of houses are now being hidden beneath a layer of ice. The cold wind stings my eyes and leaves my lips dry. But still, I walk.

I don't see much people now. Most of them are gone, gone like every thing else, like those rabbits and squirrels that hopped around often in good times. Gone to their resting havens. The ones I see, I am not able to recognize or characterize. They are all solitary giants made out of feather down jackets with hoods of fur propped up where their faces were supposed to be. The hoods have replaced the heads. Faces of White, Brown or Black have lost their significance. There is no skin out there. There is no color to be distinguished upon. There is nothing.

There are some people out there, whom I like and respect. Those people who are going to toil in the night when their peers are at rest. For December is like a long night. A long, chilly, lonely night. A night without any sign of the sun. In that night, they will tread alone.

But its a night that's white. As layers of snow will pile deep and shallow, the only thing that will beat this night is white. The white light. It's coming. It's going to mock this night.

So I call you my brave friend, to mock this sleepy night, to walk with me in this white night, upon the heavy snow, against the piercing wind, towards our goals that we have set to achieve in this month. Let's pick those books that were left unread, those songs that were left unsung, those rhythms that were left unplayed, those sketches that were left uncolored, those words that were left unsaid.