Cell sites be downed for all I care, but we’ll greet the New Year with fire in our blood and hope in our eyes.
Tonight is New Year’s eve, and I am ready to greet it with fire in my blood. Greeting the New Year, for me, has always needed fire. It’s in my blood, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
No, I don’t mean fireworks or firecrackers. Been there, done that, although I still like to watch the sparkling colors of giant fire flowers and listen to the throbbing crescendo of explosions from afar. Neither do I mean alcoholic firewater. Been there, done that, too. Continue reading “We greet the New Year with fire in our blood”
It was 11:45 p.m. on December 31, 1972, the first New Year’s Eve after Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law. Like countless others across the country, our clan was gathered at the old family house, but sensed some uneasy quiet since the martial law government had imposed a total firecrackers ban.
My childhood memories of New Year’s Eve had always been one of rambunctious revelry in yards and streets, with neighbors weaving in and out of each others’ homes amid a wall-to-wall din of firecrackers, tooting horns, and the clangor of kitchen pots and pans. But this time, we and our neighbors—big fans of street explosions—faced the prospect of a silenced New Year’s Eve.
Our fears turned out to be unfounded. At about five minutes before midnight, a staccato of explosions started to roll in from the city’s general background noise, mounting into the familiar crescendo we all knew. Continue reading “Firecrackers: A self-destructive Pinoy addiction?”
