I spent the first moments of the new year in Budapest, leaning over a cold metal railing in knee-high boots, trying to catch a glimpse of fireworks that had been going off sporadically since about 3:00 that afternoon. I had (wrongly) assumed they would increase in number and regularity at the stroke of midnight, but soon remembered that such organization is often lacking in this country I have come to love. I couldn’t complain. I was surrounded by an assortment of new friends as well as a group of young French men in wigs, who had followed us to Parliament because they were lost. We all shouted, “Happy New Year!” and our various languages echoed over the Danube—the river who knows them all.

Later, after taking a crowded night bus home to my flat and eager to begin the year on the right foot, I went to sleep wearing my long-neglected retainer, because to do so is my only New Year’s resolution. This small piece of plastic was carefully crafted for my perfectly braces-corrected 13-year-old mouth and then ignored for ten years. I tried it on a few days ago, when I turned 24 and decided to inspect my body for signs of age and decrepitness, and found that my front two teeth were slightly crooked.  It still fit (a Christmas miracle!) though somewhat awkwardly. The dental pain upon waking has decreased significantly over the past week. My roommate wears a retainer as well, and this is comforting as it lessens the embarrassment of the dreaded “retainer lisp.” Now, our goodnights to each other from across the room are equally slurred and slurpy.

Reminiscers, on the other hand, post photo-collages to various forms of social media and share their gratitude in catch-phrase form. “Blessed beyond belief!” they boast, and list the countries they visited between January and December.

I too am guilty of these sorts of clichéd claims. I am prone to nostalgia. I view the past sentimentally.  I take and regularly revisit photographs. I miss things that I never thought I would miss, like running routes that took me beside dangerously busy highways and college classes I often slept through. I keep things. I have five ticket stubs from the U-Bahn in Vienna in my Moleskin journal pocket. And why? Because I want to remember. Memories are essential, especially to writers. If I don’t remember it and write it down, who will?

“Somebody had to do it,” writes Annie Dillard in An American Childhood, “Somebody had to hang on to the days with teeth and fists, or the whole show had been in vain.”

I resolve to hang on to the days of 2014 with slightly straighter teeth.

Caroline (Higgins) Nyczak

Caroline (Higgins) Nyczak (’11) lives in Brooklyn, New York, where she spends the vast majority of her time teaching English Language Arts. You may also find her at barre exercise classes or playing (and losing) at bar trivia. She continues to be inspired by the energy and diversity of New York City and the beauty of that certain slant of light.