I woke up at around 7 this morning, then told myself it was too early for any sane person to wake up on Boxing Day.

Even Boxing agreed and he knew it was right: it was his day after all.  

Sooner or later, I will quit procrastinating. At least, at some point next year. 

It’s best to treat the coming year along the lines of “keep it simple, stupid.” I’ll just try and get some laughs amid the complicated hopes I have wrapped up in the remaining ribbons and mistletoe of 2025. 

From that point of view, we’re unique: no one ever regards the January 1^stwith indifference. It is the point from which we all date our time and count what’s left. 

When I was growing up,  the new year, certainly the Western concept of  New Year’s Eve, wasn’t taken seriously in the slightest. 

As ostensible Hindus, there were, instead, oil baths ( an abomination created chiefly by the manufacturers of gingelly oil desirous of higher profit) and a meat-less diet. 

Apparently, abstaining from meat on January 1^st somehow made you a better and more caring person. 

I didn’t subscribe to the notion that an angry bull would leave you alone if you were vegetarian. 

When I was a teenager, I therefore attempted, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to convince my parents of the fundamental fallacy underpinning the vegetarian diet. I said that vegetarians were what they were not so much because they loved animals but because they hated plants. 

My father laughed but my mother wasn’t amused. She’d been staunchly vegetarian since childhood and even shuddered at the thought of eggs. Yet, bless her heart, she would cook, and superbly at that, chicken and mutton dishes for all five of her  children. 

Growing up in a small place like Seremban made you wonder what it was like growing up in a big city like Kuala Lumpur. Because you just assumed that it was somehow more exciting in the big cities. 

I know better now. My sister stays in Seremban and it’s pretty clear who made the better choice.

Now that I’m in KL I feel like Homer Simpson: I’m out of the rut and back in the groove. 

Meanwhile, back in the rut, there are rarely traffic jams in Seremban.  Furthermore, its roads are better, almost Singapore-like, with no pot-holes in sight. 

Some explanation may be in order. If some of you think I dwell primarily in the past, that’s because most of my life has been there. 

As we get older, it becomes clear that there are many opinions on any single subject. 

Take time. To most of us, there’s never enough of it. Or, as Malcolm Forbes observed, “There is never enough time unless you’re serving it.” 

The advent of a new year is also a time for reflection but I’ve noticed that people take refuge behind cynicism. 

One philosopher was unrepentant in his definition of life, “a sexually transmitted disease.” 

Then there’s George Bernard Shaw: “There are two tragedies in life: One is not to get your heart’s desire, the other is to get it.”  

But sometimes there is pleasure derived from hearing absurd  statements from seemingly smart people. Take this, from writer and essayist Samuel Johnson: “It’s better to live rich than die rich.”  

Ultimately, however, approaching the new year should make us all more accommodating. Or as the French say “life’s too short to stuff a mushroom.” Actor Richard Jeri put it more pointedly: “The way I see life, is like we’re all flying on the Hindenburg…why fight over the window seats?”

As we teeter on the remnants of the old year, let us welcome the new one: Cheers to 2026 and another chance for us to get it right. 

Happy New Year, people. 

ENDS