The last days of the year always feel different. They are no longer a celebration, but not quite ordinary days either. They are that quiet pause between Christmas and New Year, when time seems to lower its volume.
In Greek homes, the decorations remain... The lights on the tree still blink softly, the melomakarona and kourabiedes are running low on the plate — although a new batch is often prepared after persistent “requests” — and the table smells of coffee and cinnamon. The days move more slowly, carrying a gentle tiredness from everything that came before.
These are the days when we stay home a little longer. When we open drawers, leaf through old photographs, and remember people and moments. When we almost whisper, “another year has passed…” For some, it was difficult; for others, beautiful; and for some, perhaps simply uneventful. Older generations speak of yet another year completing its cycle, while we quietly carry out our own small or larger reflection. On New Year’s Eve, the rhythm shifts again, and anticipation for what’s to come begins.
There is no hurry during these days. No need for plans or grand promises. Just a bit of silence, soft lights, and the feeling that something is ending to make room for what follows. Not much is needed during these days. Just to let the warmth of home hold us a little longer, to listen to the sound of time closing the door behind it, and to keep what truly mattered: moments, people, and all those little things that made us smile...
