With the frail and flabby winter this year, nothing reminds of the beginning of the spring season and the coming of the New Year -- the unexpected showers, the blossoming of trees, and the warming of the weather. Noruz this year doesn't have the same climatic and physical appeal. People turned off their heaters some time ago, at least in Tehran, and they were caught off-guard by the un-seasonal rain. For me, the sight of buckets full of red fish, which comes with the Persian New Year spread, is only a reminder of the ticking clock -- the beginning of another year and, as a corollary, the end of the previous one.

I have always wondered which one is more important -- the beginning of a year or the end of another. I really don't know which. Should I be happy that 1388 (on the Persian solar calendar), with all its colorful events, is over? Should I hope that the new year shall be as colorful without repeating the same mistakes? In either case, there is a negative feel to it, we are looking at a seemingly long span of time filled with bitter memories parading before our mind's eye. Happiness is defined in the moment. Perhaps when the New Year rolls, I shall neither think of the previous year nor have a long-term plan or resolution for 1389. I will seize the moment.