Fireworks

Every parent’s biggest fear, something inherently found in every household— fire. The key to man’s technological progression, yet a great pain to deal with in the presence of the little ones. “Ah girl, don’t go near the fire!” The crisp crackling of the flame is ever so appealing to their round doe eyes, awakening the urge to just touch the beautiful, elusive mesh of red and orange. Children are born innocent; unknowing and oblivious to the dangers of this world. Naturally, parents tend to keep a particularly close eye on their little treasures.

I grew up with loving parents. They showed me the many wonders and dangers of this world. Fire, I was taught early on, was bad, but the urge to play with fire never left my tiny mind.

Every year, for as long as I can remember, I’ve spent the Chinese New Year break with my family in Malaysia. We stay with my extended family for anywhere from two days to a week. Some years, we barely spend any time there and simply visit ceremoniously. Other years, we have the time to visit theme parks and go shopping! However, one thing is for certain: we always get to play with firecrackers and an assorted selection of recreational explosives for at least one night. While other children eagerly anticipate receiving nominal tokens of cash encased in bright red packets, the only thing on my mind is what kind of firecracker I am going to play with that year.

Without fail, one night every year, fire is no longer an enemy; it is a toy. Albeit humble, my introduction to playing with fire was rather unorthodox. I was allowed to use lit candles to drip candle wax on the driveway. Bright pink happy-faces and questionable attempts to draw cats mainly identifiable by their oversized whiskers, often covered the asphalt. Not older than four or five years old, I played with those candles under intense adult supervision. At the same time, I watched in awe as my adolescent relatives lit up the little strings straying out from colourful cherry-sized bombs. They would then promptly toss the live mini bomb towards the road. I remember squeezing my eyes shut and covering my ears in anticipation of the loud boom to be followed by beautiful sparkles.

“How come I cannot play with that leh?” I asked my aunt.

“You still too small lah, maybe next year okay?” she replied, flashing an apologetic grin as I pouted and whined.

When I entered Primary school, I earned the right to play with packs of gunpowder pellets. Every time I threw the Nerds candy-sized pellets on the ground, a satisfying ‘pop’ sound filled my ears. Additionally, I had earned the stripes to light the mini rockets using glowing splints, also known as joss sticks. The piercing shriek of the rockets was something I never enjoyed, and the strong smell of smoke stung my sensitive nose, but I was too addicted to the illuminating flashes of red and green to care.

With every trip to Malaysia, a new adventure awaited me. As the years went by, the fireworks got bigger and progressively more dangerous. The trust my family placed in me, in my ability to handle fire safely, grew. Every child secretly desires to be seen as a “big girl” or “big boy”. Playing with firecrackers was my form of affirmation from the adults that I had reached “big girl” status. It brought me endless glee every time I played with fire, so much so that I might even be considered a pyromaniac to some degree. Even today, I am reminded of the overwhelming delight the activity brought me.

My relationship with fire, in a way, reflects my personal growth. It has a symbolic and consistent presence within my life. The best part of this pyro fixation is that Chinese New Year will never fail to arrive no matter how long the year feels. The meaning behind this yearly affair has shifted towards the role of a cathartic ritual. Regardless, curiosity is the spark behind every novel idea, life’s greatest secret to happiness. The elusive nature of this magical source of light is the initial spark that lit my insatiable curiosity— and it still does!