This year—2020—has been a long and a cold year. Long: for the troubles it brought, for the days when something reckless wriggles in you, for the times when mind seems a bit tad distracted, for some things that are lost forever in the translation; and cold: for the situations it got me in, for the ideas that went through my head, and for some things that I find easier to forget than to say. One can look up in the sky and think that it will get over soon but it doesn’t, not so easily—no. It’s something like war, when war occurs people say that “it’s stupid, it’ll end soon,” but it doesn’t. It goes on, taking a major portion of lifetimes out of it. I think Camus said it. But as cold as it may seem, things do end; a bit different but they always do. I give the argument of finiteness for it. And I lay back with a smile on my face for that gives me an insane amount of happiness; just the finite bound of it. Oh what a thing to say!

But it won’t end soon, probably will take another year or so. I’m ready for that, I got nothing against it. With the absurdity of life as it is, random things are bound to happen in any-and-all lifetimes, it’s nothing else if not normal in this sense. And I stand by it.

In the depths of winter, when the streets lay cold and soulless, everyone needs books to read and shows to watch. There were many books that resonated through me. The miserable of Dostov from The Brothers Karamazov, The Gambler, and The Double caught me but not by surprise; The artistic suffering of the ordinary mind that Gabo got me in by many works such as Love in the Time of Cholera, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Chronicles of a Death Foretold, Strange Pilgrims, No One Writes to the Colonel, Of Love and Other Demons, and some more—damn I read a lot of Gabo; There’s always some parts of Camus and Kafka that I discover which I hadn’t seen before—always something unseen, something unnoticed. There was a sweet introduction to the linguistic beauty of Nabokov and a daring simple usage by Peter Handke. Some surrealism of Murakami and an introduction to Russell. And some more. All-and-all they made my year good; for the year also brought a ton of sadness that I took from people.

The new year—though logically the same continuation—, mentally, will be a time to entertain new principles to live by. I hope the world become a better place as soon as possible. After the long winter, the summer is always beautiful.

I hope for a lot of things. I do not know why but I do. A lot goes on and I try to forget some. The last journal of the year 2020. It was alright.