Standing in the rain, on the rooftop of an old squatted grain silo, that is how I spent my new year’s eve. The wind was making my hair dance, and was trying to get a hold of me too, sending big gushes of wind that made me stumble. But I stood; the moment was way too precious to spoil by falling off the roof six stories high. I was there with a good 40 people from the squat, and not having a watch we just started counting when we thought the time was right, 3, 2, 1: Happy New Year! Kisses, kisses and hugs. How many kisses? Let’s do a Dutch three, just because we can. Mwa, mwa, mwa. Everybody smiled. Someone lit some fireworks from the rooftop above us, and we all shut our ears so that we wouldn’t get deafened by the bangs. Pretty sparkles everywhere, and the smell of gunpowder starts to fill the city air from the fireworks all around us. I couldn’t have been happier than I was there, staring at the blue and the red and the glitter in the sky, while being handed champagne and roman candles to light the sky on fire once again, and all the while fighting the wind.
Maybe I should stay in Maastricht because it’s so marvellous at times; there are so many people I would like to get to know.
Inside, we danced, first to the tuts tuts tuts of the DJ and later to someone playing and iron drum in one of the echo-y silos. “Hey, do you know what I want to do? Take a New Year’s dive!” I said to a friend who was sitting next to me on the couch in the living room. “I’d be up for it, when shall we do it?” “Let’s do it when you finish that cigarette” and so we did, biking to the river at 3 in the morning, taking our clothes off and jumping into the freezing cold river, pricking like thousands of tiny little needles in your skin. A scream in the night sky, a scream of cold, happiness, of being alive. I didn’t know it, but when my throat is hoarse I can make my screams sounds like fireworks (probably not something I should be proud of). Getting out of the water the rain is warm on our skins, and putting your clothes on has never been so delightful, so warm! What would we do without them! We laugh, walking home to warm ourselves with some tea. “Let’s do this every year to prove that we’re still crazy”, he said. Yes, let’s, but not to prove anything, just because the adrenaline streaming through our veins is a most delightful way to start the New Year.
Maybe I should stay in Maastricht because it’s so marvellous at times; there are so many people I would like to get to know.
Inside, we danced, first to the tuts tuts tuts of the DJ and later to someone playing and iron drum in one of the echo-y silos. “Hey, do you know what I want to do? Take a New Year’s dive!” I said to a friend who was sitting next to me on the couch in the living room. “I’d be up for it, when shall we do it?” “Let’s do it when you finish that cigarette” and so we did, biking to the river at 3 in the morning, taking our clothes off and jumping into the freezing cold river, pricking like thousands of tiny little needles in your skin. A scream in the night sky, a scream of cold, happiness, of being alive. I didn’t know it, but when my throat is hoarse I can make my screams sounds like fireworks (probably not something I should be proud of). Getting out of the water the rain is warm on our skins, and putting your clothes on has never been so delightful, so warm! What would we do without them! We laugh, walking home to warm ourselves with some tea. “Let’s do this every year to prove that we’re still crazy”, he said. Yes, let’s, but not to prove anything, just because the adrenaline streaming through our veins is a most delightful way to start the New Year.