The End of the World – a concept that was blown out of proportion. Introduced by the Mayans, wrongly interpreted, believed by some wackos, shaped by the mass media, supposed to happen yesterday, the Apocalypse turned out to be a simple evening for my friends and I, huddled around Dorian’s couch, watching Love Actually on his newly-installed TV. Can’t complain. But the morning afterwards, as I prepare for my plane to Italy to visit my aunt for Christmas, I can’t help but feel a bit let down.
Although I’m glad I’m still here – and so is everyone else sane enough not to inflict damage on themselves in the past day – there’s a hole in the place of those rare superstitious fibers in my body, which had been telling me for weeks, in spite of jokes and speculations, that something big was about to happen. Well, nothing changed. I don’t feel any different. Even though the Mayans hadn’t actually predicted the end of the entire world, hadn’t they predicted the beginning of a new cycle, or something like that? I like my life, but the prospect of some sort of dramatic change intrigued me. How would I and the rest of the world be different? In a way, I – and I think others – crave that sort of exhilaration and sense of the unknown. Maybe it’s in human nature to crave change? To hope that all of the sudden, all of those mundane worries will be obsolete, and we’ll have to re-adapt. No: change in this world occurs (in general) slowly and it’s often imperceptible. No apocalypse to look forward to. Would we be better off with drastic change or is the continuous progression of everyday life the way to go?
Thoughts on that?