My cousin is dragging me to a party at her theater after midnight, which may go well, or may not, depending on whether or not a bunch of drunk kids will poke their fingers at me and say “dirty American,” or mercifully pretend I am not there if they’re only half drunk.
It’s only when I leave the relatively warm, safe circles of my family do I begin to see how problematic my position is in relation to my hometown and home country. And I began to understand this, funnily enough, well before I ever decided to become an American citizen.
There are little snow-grains blowing in the wind, and the cat is purring, and the city is noisy and tense all around me, and I think about the grave of my other cousin, in the darkness, where there’s only the wind in the trees, not far away from here. If the cemeteries were safe, I would have liked to spend New Year’s Eve there, with candles for light and vodka for warmth.
And who knows, who knows, what kind of year 2007 will be? Let’s hope it’s a good one, and all that.
Natalia A. 