It is truth that many people dread the change of the seasons, whether that be for a dislike of the cold or the warmth, this distaste for what is to come is both rational and expected. Though through the rise of global warming they have been a bit warped, they come and go on a nature-based schedule, always bringing with them those characteristics which we eagerly await as the leaves turn colors then flutter to their resting place for the winter, only to be swept away and grow anew in the spring. These changes are calculated, and often longed for, lest they be undesirable. I, however, do not dread these changes in season, I do not fear the cold nor loathe the warmth. After all, I chose to remain in New England for the duration of my educational experience when I could very well have moved out west or down south. But what I dread is not found in the personality of the seasons, but in the tendencies of one month, every year; the month of March.
March does, more often than not, signify the turning of the seasons, so let me be clear again, this is not the reason for my dislike of the month. No, for me, March has been a dark cloud that has loomed over my family since I can remember. March was the month that took from me my father, followed by my grandfather, followed by my dog. March, to me, signifies loss, although quite comically, to others, March is the month of luck. Unfortunately for me, I do not enjoy the luck of the Irish, although this was to be expected in the life of a Cuban Jew. It is for this simple reason, be it founded upon nothing more than coincidence, that I do not look forward to the month which brings about such joys as spring break and the final melting of the snow that dirties the ground.
Yet each year, as I await what seems to be an inevitable tragedy that has yet to come, I remain optimistic in the hopes that the coming March will be different from the last. I patiently yearn for the day when I will no longer shield my eyes from the coming month in anticipation of something grievous. Year to year, I have found, in this state of positivity, that my fear March has become increasingly more destitute. That's not to say that these malicious shivers do not crawl down my spine every now and again when I think of this month, the month that seized from me so much love and elation. But I have taken this unease and turned it into something that allows me to carry on without these hindrances that I once faced. So, in lieu of the last few days of February, I can say that I am eagerly anticipating the surprises I am sure to encounter in the month of March. Be they good or bad, I am sure to emerge victorious over their subtle hold on me.
