Every year in Toronto, there is a massive hype surrounding the ever popular New Years Eve festivities. Whether you spend it at the trendiest downtown lounge, a loud and expensive nightclub party, with family, or at Nathan Philips Square with almost every other Torontonian, there is always something for someone to do.
We were headed to Montreal. A frequent traveler to Montreal, I was not-so-excited to start another new year in the same not-so-new city. The drinking, the parties, the people, it was all very last year, but I was determined to have a good time and make the most out of doing something different.
Every year, there is also the famed New Years resolution. Some resolve to lose weight, be independent, finding the ‘one.’ I was resolving to be happy. I had spent the year repeating my patterns with men: BiGuy, Sunny, Mau, and this year, I was determined not to become a player in the same games, and lose myself in a draw. It was time for the new Paul, the new sexy-approachable, go-with-the-flow, don’t-care-if-you-don’t-call-me Paul. I was ready to be a whole new me, as clichéd as that may sound. Danielle, Amanda, and Ryan didn’t believe in New Years resolutions, feeling they were easily broken before they even started, so I kept mine a secret, hoping to prove them wrong.
Our New Years getaway increasingly seemed like it would be a less-than-perfect trip. Our hotel room was accidentally booked a day later than planned, we had not been able to reserve our New Years Eve party tickets, and Danielle’s company had a mix-up with payroll and no employees were paid on time. Two days and a six-hour bus ride later, I was in Montreal.
“This is it?” asked Amanda. With a double bed, and a pull out sofa, the room was almost as big as my closet.
And so that was the beginning of my so-called ‘new start.’ After a little unpacking and dinner at Pino’s, a Montreal hot spot, we were ready for a night on the town. Already a little tipsy from the drinks we had in the hotel room, we managed to make our way to Unity II, which hosts one of the best parties on a Friday night.
The music was hot, the men were hotter, and the drinks were cold. There were risers, two levels, and a nice, dark lounge in case you just wanted to sit and mingle. As we made our way around the club, we met up with our good friend Alex, a Montreal local we had met on our last visit. In the classic Montreal tradition, Alex was ‘chic,’ fun, and uncommonly handsome, and had a certain “je ne sais quoi” about him. He brought along his friend Iyss, a hot lesbian with wild hair.
Since their first meeting in August, Ryan had been infatuated with Alex. Up until that point, they had spent hours on end on the phone. This was Ryan’s chance, but all Alex seemed to want to do is dance—alone.
As I watched their dance floor body language, Alex was clearly trying to make himself seem available to the locals, leaving Ryan on the outskirts of town. So Ryan decided to do the next best thing and act like Alex wasn’t worth a thing.
Once I realized Ryan had things under control, with drink in hand, I decided to make my rounds around the club. Looking sexy-approachable, I smiled at all the guys I found attractive, and just as I was coming down the stairs I got a smile from a familiar face. A Torontonian’s face.
I had gone out with Tyson a few times in Toronto almost a year ago. It was very insignificant at
the time that I almost forgot his name.
“What are you doing here?” he coaxed me to the side of the stairs.
I explained to him that, as every other traveler, I was here to spend New Years and have a good time.
“Well,” he said into my ear. “You look great, and I know how to have a good time.” I wanted him to push him down the stairs so I could get to the real men, but instead, I listened. “I’m staying at the Governor Hotel, take my number.”
I reached into my pocket and grabbed my mobile, and handed it to him. As I was saving his number, I realized he was waiting to give him his phone. As we said our goodbyes, I couldn’t help but wonder: did I really want to start the New Year this way? I was looking for new, not old.
“Call me,” he yelled as I made my way down the stairs.
Three hours and two drinks later, I found myself at the corner booth in a trendy little restaurant in the village. I had begun feeling sick and decided to order a Ginger Ale.
As I sat there, I looked around at the other people in the diner. What were their new years resolutions? It was four in the morning the day before my new life was to begin, and I was drunk in another city sitting across from two virtual strangers, a drag queen, and some weird guy in a trench coat. Was this the new me I wanted to bring into the New Year?
As I stumbled into my hotel room in the early hours of the morning, I noticed the text message alert flashing on my phone.
My hotel? I’m alone…
It was Tyson. As I sat on the edge of my bed, I seriously considered the idea of making an early morning escape to his hotel room. And so I wrote to him:
Let me sleep a little and I’ll get back to you…
After a two-hour attempt at sleep, I grabbed the first outfit I could find and was in a cab on my way to the Governor Hotel. As he met me in the lobby, I realized I should have come better prepared. Walking out on to the executive business floor 28, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror under the chandelier, I realized I did not belong here in my state of mind.
And so, with that, I found the only way to feel comfortable was to get rid of my clothes and I found myself making out with Tyson, under the expensive sheets. As Tyson got up to go to the bathroom, I looked over at the clock and realized that in twelve hours it would be a new year, one without these meaningless men where I was free to be happy. Before Tyson had a chance to come back and leap into action, I was already dressed and ready to say my goodbyes for a second, and final, time.
As I wandered the streets of Montreal, I got to thinking: could I have great, meaningless sex and still be the fabulous new me? Or did the fabulous new me mean no more meaningless sex?
An hour later, I was wandering the streets looking for the best New Years Eve party tickets with Danielle, Amanda, and Ryan. It was between Jet Nightclub and LaBoom, both very hot and expensive parties.
But then came a new problem to ruin my new year. Ryan decided he didn’t want waste his money when we could get drunk cheap on his own, go to a “not so hyped up” club, and buy a new pair of shoes with the rest. It complicated things even more, and on less than two hours sleep and already feeling down about my encounter with Tyson, I couldn’t take much more stress of this trip.
Amanda and Danielle settled on LaBoom, and Ryan and I settled on winging it. Back at the hotel room, the thought of the four of us not being together on New Years started to bother me more and more to the point where I couldn’t keep my sadness and anger inside.
Right there, on the sofa bed, in beautiful Montreal, on New Years Eve, I let out a small, but powerful cry that stopped Amanda from curling her hair, Ryan from mixing drinks, and Danielle from planning her outfit.
I felt like such a fool. I was four hours away from the new me, and I couldn’t believe I was leaving 2005 with tears. As I sat there overlooking the city, I got to thinking: was I placing too much pressure on myself to be this new person? Or did I just want everything to be perfect for the New Year? What is the price you have to pay to be the new you?
So as I saw my reflection in the window: red eyes, wet cheeks, I looked at the clock. It was about to be New Years and I wanted to do it right. So I picked myself off the couch and decided it was time to get dressed.
The night was amazing. Not only were the drinks good, but I also realized that spending New Years with one of my three best friends was still good enough, even great. And the girls would be back at the hotel room when I got there, so it was finally time to stop worrying about time and start having a good time.
“10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. HAPPY NEW YEARS!” was all I heard around the club. And as the clock struck 12:01 AM, I realized it wasn’t so bad.
Later that night, Ryan and I found our way to a hotel party with a couple of guys from Boston. We thought they were cute and they thought we were sexy. As I started making out with a hot cop in the corner, I couldn’t help but affirm how much I liked the four-hour old new me. I was confident, approachable, and had managed to meet a sexy guy who I didn’t feel any emotion for and just wanted to have a good time with.
Our kissing found its way to his hotel room. As things progressed, I heard my phone ring and saw it was Ryan calling. I had to answer it.
“You ready to go?” he asked. “I’ve had enough of this guy.”
I looked over at the hot cop from Boston and decided the new me had enough fun for one night. “Yes, I’m ready. Meet me in the lobby in two.”
The next night, we did it all over again, but instead of ending up in a restaurant with strangers, or in a hotel room with Americans, we ended up at Second Cup, where the new Ryan felt like he had to get something off his chest.
“I felt really stupid that night with Alex. I can’t believe I was such a fool.”
I felt bad. Ryan was far from a fool, it was Alex who tried to lead him on and it was bittersweet that Ryan realized it in time.
“You feel bad?” I comforted him. “Do you remember me last night on the couch?”
We both laughed. “I know. It’s just sometimes, I feel like I’ll never be anything to anyone. This whole new me, its a flop, my resolutions were a joke.”
Suddenly, I wondered if the new anybody would ever work out. We are who we are for a reason. We’re built the way we are through our battles, our struggles, our lessons, our heartbreaks, and our stress. Who we are is simply based on our past. We’re not one new person, we’re a mix of events, stories—a mix of years. So like wine, maybe we only get better with every New Year.
As we sat in the empty coffee shop at three in the morning, we knew there was nowhere else we’d rather be than with each other or no one else’s we’d rather be than ourselves.
The next day, I woke feeling better than I had the past few days. I was ready for the New Year and couldn’t wait to get back home.
As we left the hotel room and got into the elevator, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was still the same old Paul. My face was no different. My eyes still held the same truth. And I got to thinking: why was I trying so hard to be a different person when I like the person I see in front of me? What did the new me have on the old me? Was there even a new me?
I had done and felt so much in the past three days that I was ready to come back. And so I got on the bus that would bring me home to Toronto to start the New Year, and my not so new life, as the not-so-new me. And that was just fine by me.
