Digital Manuscript of E. I. Dinazar

I never understand the meaning of celebrating new year with tons of explosives polluting the sky, ear-torturing trumpet and gallons of unhealthy drinks, only to live as lame as before. For some people, that's joy. For me? That's nonsense. New year has nothing to do with celebration. That's just our rocky planet finishing one round of its eternal race against time around its sun.  A new beginning of a certain unit of time. Just the same as every morning, a start of a brand new day. Or every time our moon repeat its monthly cycle. Nothing special to be proud of, unless we are battling life-threatening diseae, or surviving a catastrophic event, or finding a reasonably close habitable planet to move on, there's nothing to be celebrated over a new calendar year.   I mean, if we really need to celebrate, celebrate an achievement. Like finishing a new and challenging task. Accepted at a new (and better) workplace. Acquiring new business. Mastering new skill. Learning new langu