The skyline is twinkling. The ground is, too. So is the sky. While I sit in a lifeless room staring into the darkness, thousands of fireflies are dancing in the night. Across the country, millions of fireworks are set off in sync. Their popping is deafening. The dogs are barking.
How many countless times have I wanted to be closer? How many minutes have I spent yearning to bask in that shower of sparks which falls and fades? It is one of my country’s most prideful days of the year, yet I feel so isolated. I am not proud. I forgot it was today. I ate Asian food today. I watched a subtitled movie today. I only remembered because of the fireworks.
Hanabi. Flowers. Yes, I like that. Fiery flowers that explode in a cloud of ash and smoke. If this is the only time of year I can see them in this country, so be it. Red glowing roses, white-hot daisies, blue violets streaking across the night.
Nights like this I wish I could fly, if only to get a little higher, a little closer. Take me there. Take my mind, my body, my soul. Let me go as high as these flowers. Let me burn so brightly the world will have no choice but to stare as I shoot into the star-filled sky and turn night into day, if only for the briefest of moments. I wish to be a glowing spider lily of the night. Omen of good, omen of bad, I do not care. Let me be the reason a child’s face glows with awe.
