New Years Eve

Prompt: "Write a story or poem about a New Years Eve celebration, that is memorable for you."

(The prompt is essential in all of the WritersCramp stories because then it's very hard to understand)





I waited in anticipation as relatives and family poured into the house.

Like any other year when we'd come back to Malaysia, my family's country of birth, we would be celebrating New Years Eve with celebrations throughout the night at my auntie's house.

The house was perfect for celebrations. Whenever we stayed in Ipoh we would stay in this house and so we didn't need to go anywhere for the celebrations.

It was a huge house, frowning down upon the rest of my relative's relatively small houses; which was why year after year the celebration would be held at the same place. It was a flawless house, well in my eyes at least. Its white walls resisted all signs of stains, and it slightly resembled a palisade. The floors were made of marble, smooth and best of all replaced carpeted floors in such a hot and humid country. The rooms left little space for gardens, as they are all very big, and it boasted numerous bathroom facilities, a rare thing in houses in Malaysia.

The main setback the house contained was mosquitoes. Legions and legions of the annoying pests. Have a shower, sleep, sit down, and run around, no matter what you'd do you'd never escape the house without a mosquito bite or two.

But despite the threat of blood hungry insects and inconvenient yet plentiful toilets, we still came back to this house year after year.

Maybe it was the atmosphere of the house, clean and free of the trammels of age. Or maybe it wasn't.

Suddenly my stomach sounded out a groan in unison with the countdown-taking place in my mind; I hoped dinner would be served soon.

"So how are you doing, Warren?" one of my cousins addressed me as I was walking down the main corridor towards the kitchen.

I stopped, feeling a little bit disappointed; my stomach would have to wait a few more minutes.

"Great thanks," I replied, keeping my conversational replies short in a bid to end the conversation as soon as I could.

"That's good, I hope you and your family enjoy the food here!" she said with great gaiety before continuing on through the hallway.

Just as I had reached the arched doorway of the kitchen and dining room, the place of my stomach's dreams, a loud shrill shout reverberated through the air.
"Dinner time!" it prompted. My stomach agreed.

"Yum," I commented, before I had even laid an eye on what food littered the dining table.

"Aren't you on a diet?" mum joked.

I smiled and said, "According to you, not me."

She grinned back and handed me a plate. Sometime later when I'd finally pulled away from staring and taking the different delicacies laid out on the table, ranging from curry laksa, to steamboat, and to native Malaysian dishes, I found myself a comfy seat where I could talk a little bit and still have a peaceful time enjoying the food.

The food was great, but I knew that there would be a lot of excitement, drinks, and more food to come tonight, and feeling like a bloated fish was not a very nice feeling, so I passed on a second round.

The whole house bustled with life now, with young kids and adults shipping empty and newly filled plates of food back and forth. Something in my blood loved these types of parties. My blood seems to turn on fire, rage through my veins with vigorous energy at every New Years Eve reunion. The atmosphere, the never lonely feeling and the life of the house was great. This feeling, a feeling of bliss that overcomes you, and although I can never describe it in words alone I can feel it.

Then when the endless jokes, laughing, and chatter throughout dinner is finished the fun begins.

As if by a prompt my body feels alive again, knowing very well that dinner is over and the time for fun has begun.

Card packs soon break open and we all gather around a table, each and every person staring at everyone else in the room, learning and memorising the faces of those who may become a tad richer that night.

Money flies out of our pockets as fast as lightning as round after round our bets increase. Groans and shouts of joy spring up every few seconds as the unfortunate and fortunate show themselves. But no matter the losses or the wins the mood still stays the same: joyful and cheery.

I keep peeking in glances during different hands at a nearby clock, keen on welcoming New Years Eve along with millions of other people around the world.

As soon as I know it we all stop our cries of laughter and give the cards a rest as we pay our visits to the toilet. Champagne, wine, and soft drink are soon brought out and greedily I scramble to pour a cup for myself.

Gathering in the main room of the house we all eagerly await midnight.

"Three, two," we all shout as the countdown begins.

"One, HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Cups meet with other cups midair, cheers pierce the night, and the kids jump up and down wildly as the beginning of a New Year is ushered in.

Another half an hour later or so when we've all settled down, the cards begin once again, and money hastily flies out of our pockets once again.

But soon it's near morning, and despite the amount of fun we're having the day must end. One by one, the house empties until all that's left is my family and our hosts.

My blood dies down, but my cheery mood stays none the less. Counting my losses for this year and vowing to win next year I retire to bed, thinking all the way about the next great party. Not for the food or presents, but what it means to me. The great atmosphere, the roar of laughter, and best of all my family.