I’m a Virgin
No, really. At least when it comes to New Year’s Eve.
In my twenty-seven years in this body on this planet, I have never celebrated New Year’s Eve in the western tradition. Sure, my parents and I catch the last 20 seconds or so of pre-recorded countdowns from Times Square like any other American family. If we’re all still awake (which is rare), we whisper the phrase “Happy New Year” to each other and then pass out.
In between watching nationwide countdowns, we also watch Kohaku, a Japanese variety show of sorts that features popular singers of today and yesterday.
And while all of this is going on, we’re prepping food for New Year’s Day.
What I’m basically trying to say is this:
1. I’ve never been kissed at midnight.
2. I’ve never counted down to the new year with a large crowd of people.
3. I’ve never tossed back several glasses of champagne during the countdown.
4. I’ve never ventured outside of my house on New Year’s Eve to celebrate.
The main reason for my lack of participation: I do not want to show up hungover in front of my grandma and relatives that I only see once a year. I enjoy the food on New Year’s Day and want to get up early to scarf it down. Because it all starts as soon as I make my way downstairs.
Maybe one of these days I’ll give it up, but it’s got to be someone very special. Like the guy-that-I’m-going-to-marry kind of special. I could be missing out on something wonderful, but for now, I’m good staying at home.