I remember the late 80s, early 90s… As soon as December arrived, an excitement would begin in the house, as if the world revolved only around our neighborhood. New Year's Eve wasn't like it is today, filled with brightly lit shopping malls, expensive gifts, or social media posts. Back then, New Year's Eve meant an evening in a warm home, with snowflakes slowly melting on the windowpane. The wonderful aroma of spices wafting from my mother stuffing a turkey in the kitchen would fill the whole house. It often snowed outside. That fine, silent snow… As soon as we woke up in the morning, we would run to the window. The street would be pure white, smoke rising from the neighbors' chimneys. We would rush out into the street to make snowmen; we'd put carrots for their noses and pieces of coal for their eyes, and then laugh and ask each other, "Did it come to life?" When we got home, we'd drink the hot salep or boza our mother had prepared, our hands frozen, our cheeks bright red. The gifts were different too. Not expensive toys, but a pair of wool socks, a colorful set of pencils, or a few chocolates our father pulled from his pocket… But the joy we felt opening that gift was unlike anything today. Because it wasn't the value of the gift that mattered, but the warmth of the giver's hand. And the best part was being in the same room as a family. Mother, father, siblings… No one was looking at their phones, no one was saying, "Let's take a picture right away." We were just laughing together, getting excited together, living that magical night together. As midnight approached, we would join in the countdown on the TV, shouting "10… 9… 8…" in unison. Then we would hug each other and sincerely say, "Happy New Year." Now I think about it, the greatest gift of those New Year's Eves was that boundless love and sense of belonging. How simple, how real everything was… Today the lights are brighter, the gifts are bigger perhaps, but that warm feeling of home, the smell of snow, our mother's voice, our father's laughter… They never come back. I miss those days. I miss that innocent excitement, that unconditional love. Maybe one day it will snow again and awaken the child within me, even if only for one evening. Happy New Year, my childhood… Happy New Year to those beautiful Christmases.