On New Year s Eve

If I were a painter asked to paint my self-portrait, I would paint a bridge...

A bridge from the couch to the chair across the room, in which my mom is sitting, singing along to an old song from a Russian movie that I am playing on my phone.

A bridge from here and now to there and then. To the time when I was a child, and mom and dad were young, and I hadn't yet lost anyone, and I knew where home was, and that song was playing on TV, and winters were cold, and life would never change.

A bridge to the places where I can hug my friends.

A bridge to where there is no war.

A bridge to where it all makes sense like it used to. From this land, which will never replace home, to that land, which will never be home again. A bridge across the Milky Way that connects nowhere with nevermore. A memory bridge.

The New Year's Eve is long. I have a New Year wish for you all. Wherever you are, whatever you do: I wish you to know where home is. It may not be a physical place somewhere on earth. It may be a smile, a hug. A song. A friend's voice. A photograph. Go there now. Bridge your life and the lives of your dear ones again, like you never separated. Send the message of love to them. They can hear you on New Year's Eve.

Go home before the clock strikes twelve.

And be there next year and always.