As you walk by the colorful shops and busy markets and narrow streets and lavish temples - you realize that the crowd has its own language. I do not mean language like English, or German, or Hindi. It is more like a distant echo in the mountains, or a mixture of music beats from bars on a beach. The streets are filed with some kind of whispers - angry ones, happy ones, inviting ones - but together they remind me of humming birds or buzzing bees. All the words vanish in the air. We are left with a cocktail of sounds and letters, while all the individual emotions and messages…

We set our New Year's resolutions for hopes of better us and better tomorrow. It does not matter that by the 10th of January we forget them, because at that moment, all that matters is that we realize what we want to be, where we want to be, how we want to be. And when the clock ticks midnight, a certain warmth in our souls whispers that maybe - just maybe - these dreams can become part of our reality in the upcoming year.