What Will 2012 Bring: Hopes, Fears, the End of the World As We Know It?

It's New Year's Eve in Bangkok, and I can still remember the last one, in Buenos Aires, like it was yesterday. In a way, I can't believe that it wasn't. Each year seems to go by more swiftly than the one before it!

My previous New Year's Eve's celebration began with a small get-together at the apartment of my friend Cara and ended at my place with the last guy of note that I can remember meeting in Buenos Aires. I woke up on January 1 thinking that although this would not be the beginning of some sweeping romance (I was, after all, moving to Melbourne in two months), it might be a sign that a great year had just begun.

I'm still not completely sure what to make of 2011. It was an era of extreme personal growth and new experiences, which, in hindsight, a few months down the line, might actually make it an excellent year. If nothing else, this year, I learned to go with the flow, to live without a game plan.

A few years ago, I never would have allowed a one-month holiday to turn into six months of self-discovery where I didn't always know where I'd wake up the next day. I still haven't sorted out where I'm going to live when I return to Melbourne, and it's only a few days away. Six months ago, I would be panicked out of my mind, but now, I've got better things to do. Not bad for a recovering perfectionist!

But getting back to my bedroom on January 1, 2011... Unfortunately, the guy, one of my final tastes of flaky porteno man meat, turned out to be like so many others before him. There were those few perfunctory text messages before he dropped off the face of the earth completely. I was a little disappointed. Had I been planning on sticking around, I might have been crushed.

Last New Year's Day, I never would have guessed that I would be ending 2011 in Bangkok. But here I am. That's the beauty of life, how it can take you off course to strange, unexpected places, if you let it. So far I have no plans to celebrate. I was told I'd have a perfect view of the fireworks from my 14th floor apartment, if I feel like staying far from the maddening party crowd. I have no real resolutions either. I have promised myself that there will be less whiskey and less worrying about the future in 2012. Life will bring what it brings.

Already I feel a strange sense of calm and serenity that I can't recall ever having before. I still have my hopes and dreams but no expectations. Without expectations, there is less risk of disappointment.

And that is what I'm most excited about as 2011 segues into 2012: my open road. What will life bring? So much can happen in one year. Today, I can't even remember the name of that first guy I met in 2011, the one I spent a week or two focused on at the beginning of the year. His face is something of a blur, too. Who knows? Maybe by this time next year, so will all of the faces and people and things that dominate my thoughts these days, the ones I don't necessarily want to be there.

Goodbye, 2011. It's been... an experience. Welcome, 2012! I can't wait to see what comes next!

Why I Can't Get 'Melancholia' Out of My Head

The mark of a truly great movie is that it stays with you long after the final credits roll. And no 2011 film that I've seen so far has had such a tight grip on me for so long after the fact as Melancholia, which I hold in even higher regard now than I did while I was watching it.

At this rate, it just might end up being my favorite movie of the year, and not just because Wagner, my favorite composer, figures so prominently on the soundtrack. In an interesting twist, The Tree of Life, which would be my pick for 2011's most overrated movie, despite a fantastic performance from Brad Pitt, featured the beginning of the world, while Melancholia climaxed with the end of it. I've always imagined that the Immolation Scene from Wagner's Gotterdammerung would be playing at the end of time.

If I ruled the world, which, hopefully, will not end in 2012, the Best Actress Oscar would be Kirsten Dunst's to lose. She should be this year's Natalie Portman, another former child actor who blossomed into a formidable adult performer, but for some reason, Hollywood seems to have a grudge against her. In the past, I haven't been particularly fond of Dunst's work, but she owns the character of Justine in Melancholia.

I've never been quite as far down in the depths as Justine goes, but I've been close enough to recognize the scenery. If I ever were to tie the knot, I probably wouldn't have sex with a stranger on the front lawn during the wedding reception, but I can so see myself doing something to sabatoge my happily ever after.

As Justine's sister Claire, for whom the film's second section, my favorite, is named, Charlotte Gainsbourg is nearly as impressive. She has a role similar to the one that Sarah Paulson played to Elizabeth Olsen's title character in Martha Marcy May Marlene: rock-solid big sibling, caretaker, and judgmental, disapproving witness to the unraveling of a family member.

I first fell in love with Gainsbourg in 1993, when I saw The Cement Garden at New York City's Angelika Film Center on my first date with my second boyfriend. Though Melancholia is, for the most part, The Kirsten Dunst Show, Gainsbourg and her voice of reason ground it. She is to these proceedings what Rachel Griffiths was to Hilary and Jackie, or Mare Winningham to Georgia. Griffiths' and Winningham's efforts were rewarded with well-deserved Best Supporting Actress Oscar nominations, and so should Gainsbourg's. (Incidentally, I'd put Bridesmaids' Rose Byrne on that shortlist, too. She was so much more essential to that film than Melissa McCarthy, but no one has said a word about her.)

It is through Claire's eyes that we experience the end of the world in Melancholia, and Gainsbourg does such a fantastic job taking us there. I've occasionally wondered how I might react if I were diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had months to live, but I've never considered what I would do if a planet called Melancholia were on a crash-collision course with Earth.

Would I reach out to the people I love who already know that I love them? Would I reach out to those who might not be so sure? Would I indulge in a last supper where calories and nutrition wouldn't count? Would I swallow a bottle of pills, as Justine's cowardly husband (Kiefer Sutherland, in a role that I would have imagined going to someone like Billy Crudup) does? Would I call the one that got away and invite him over for one last go? At it's best, sex can feel like the end of the world, which would be such a fantastic note to go out on.

One thing I know for sure is that I wouldn't build a fortress made of sticks and sit under it holding the hands of my freakishly serene, depressed sister and alarmingly calm son. No, that wouldn't do at all. But I'm glad that's what Claire chose to do. The image of the trio holding hands as Melancholia approaches is haunting and unforgettable. If that's what the end of the world will look like, I couldn't imagine a more beautiful, brutal finale.