Cheers to Life, Not Death: Rethinking Our Feasts

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Disclaimer
Before you dive into this blog, let me share something important. Everything I’ve written here is based on my beliefs, observations, and the little knowledge I’ve gathered so far. I don’t intend to offend or challenge anyone’s deeply-held beliefs, especially since I know some of you reading this have far more life experience than I do. My goal isn’t to debate but to offer a perspective. All I ask is that you read this with an open heart and mind—whether you agree or not is entirely up to you.

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I’m 18 now, and for the first time, I’m starting to feel the pressure building around me. My friends have started asking me to join in on New Year's celebrations—those parties with food, drinks, and all the excitement. It’s funny because I’ve never really been one to get caught up in that kind of thing, but this year... something feels different. It’s like I’m standing on the edge of something I’m expected to be a part of, and for the first time, I’m not sure if it’s what I really want.

For the first time, I had to ask myself—Do I really want this?

 Many of us begin the new year by turning our bodies into graveyards. Yes, you read that right—smashaan. A place where dead bodies rest in silence, where life has ceased to exist. Except, this isn’t about cemeteries or funeral pyres. This is about what we consume.

We celebrate life by indulging in things that slowly chip away at it—plates piled with meat that once had a heartbeat. Glasses raised for our “health” that, sip by sip, destroy the very cells working tirelessly to keep us alive.

 

Dig. Scoop. Drop.

When that animal is waiting to be cut, it doesn’t wait in peace. It waits in terror. It hears the cries of its brethren—shrieking, struggling, being cut. It sees the blood, the chaos, the inevitable. Its body floods with cortisol, adrenaline, norepinephrine, and other stress hormones—chemical messengers of panic and despair.

And then, the last thing that escapes its tiny, broken heart is a cry. A cry for help. A cry to curse those who take away its life—whether for business, pleasure, or both. That cry carries its final moments of pain and betrayal.

When we consume that flesh, we consume not just its physical body but also its emotional residue. That stress, those hormones, that suffering—it becomes a part of us.

This isn’t just about food—it’s about energy. What we put into our bodies shapes not only our health but also our spirit.

 

Sip. Drip. Drop.

Now, let’s talk about the other “killer” we welcome on New Year’s Eve.

We sip, we cheer, we lose ourselves in the moment. And in that moment, thousands of cells in our body lose their lives. Alcohol doesn’t just make you dizzy; it kills your liver cells, dehydrates your brain, and quietly chips away at your health. The irony? While we toast to a "new beginning," we’re unknowingly ending the lifespan of the very cells responsible for helping us live it.

 

But here’s the thing: I’m not here to preach. We all have the freedom to choose what we do, eat, and drink. I want to invite you to consider: is this the beginning you really want? Or is it time to start a new kind of celebration—one that honours life instead of ending it?

And while I know this is a deeply personal choice—one influenced by culture, habit, and preference—it’s worth pausing to ask: Is this what my body deserves?





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