2020

I remember that having a New Year's Day stroll twelve months ago I felt it in my bones that this year would be better that the one before. So much for my power of clarvoyance.

Because we all know what happened: Covid-19. Which didn't affect me personally as much as most; instead, I developed a tumour again, oesophageal this time.

Of course, things are rarely all bad. A silver lining of all those lockdowns was that Tommy had much more time to reply my mails. In fact, he began writing comparatively long ones, ones that resemble letters more than social media messages.

And during one of the less restricted months I went again, after several years, on a trip with my friends from college. It wasn't one of the best trips I had with them over the years, yet it was good enough to be a highlight of the year.

And so on. But all in all it was a bad year indeed. Basically I was just going to work, reading books (in a pub when possible - ay, I did enjoy that), struggling to keep up with my language(s) studies, scarcely fulfillling self-imposed tasks faster than adding new ones, and insidiously becoming sicker and sicker.

I don't feel anything in my bones tonight. But mere reason tells me that unless the cancer (or something else) kills me - which unfortunately at the moment doesn't seem at all improbable - the next year can hardly be as bad, let alone worse, than the one which is eventually almost over.*

* it's still not been midnight in my homeland, although it's already past it here in my exile