One year earlier.

"Time doesn't move forward — it's just that somewhere else it's named earlier."

We looked at the date.

Not a metaphor.

Not an exaggeration.

2026.

Meanwhile, in San Francisco, it's still 2025.

They're still counting down there.

We're already counting down, where's the headache medicine.

This isn't a matter of opinion.

This is geography.

Europe has already crossed over.

America is still getting ready.

We're already sobering up, they're just toasting.

We're not "ahead" because we're smarter.

But because the sun rises earlier.

But the joke is still true: for a few hours today, we're really a year ahead.

We already know: – man hasn't become a new man,

– the world hasn't turned around,

– half of the vows are already suspect.

They're still hoping.

We're already smiling.

And there's no mockery in that.

Just experience.

This advantage doesn't last long.

The date evens everything out.

By morning, everyone will be in the same place.

But now, in these few hours, when the date shows something different, we can safely say:

We're over it.

They're still in it.

And that's just enough humor for the start of a new year.

Time zones slip.

Years catch up.

The world remains as it is.

But these few hours — when Europe was "ahead" — we can safely keep as a memory.

Tomorrow, everyone will be living in the same year.

Today, we're still laughing about it.