It seems to me that 2014 was more about people than anything else. It reminded me of my early phase of existence.
I remember being 13 years old, and fondly remembering my 10 years old self, weeping in her bed by night, because she left her Grannie of the North and the countryside the morning of that night, and would only get to see her again a year after.
I remember being 16 years old, and fondly reflecting on my 12 years old self, struggling to explain in her clumsy french words the italian torn copy of Hugo Pratt's Una Ballata Del Mare Salato, to dear childhood friends eager to learn French and who thought that the comics were in French and that I could teach them some of the language with that amazing book which had illustrations to go with the text.
I remember being 19 years old, and fondly remembering my 17 years old self, prejudiced against high school teenagers and eager to just hang out with fellow childhood friends now in university, or those sharing some of her passion on the internet or in the library.
I remember being 22 years old, and fondly remembering my 18 years old self, deeply moved and incredibly touched by the fact that she had a best friend and by the amount of warmth and love she was been given by whom she used to think of as mindless egocentric teenagers.
I remember being 24 years old, and fondly remembering every time I spent with the closed ones despite the differences and the ends of several friendships.
I'm 25 years old now and I can't stop remembering and gratitude is still this overwhelming feeling that chokes me. I just have to find out I can talk about NGE or Dune or Tolkien with someone to feel the heat in my throat and the warmth within me.
Dear dear god, how this world is full of people.