Fireworks

It's been the second time this month I've made the committment to participate in the Fireworks Festival. And I'm glad to say I still enjoyed every bit of it. Completely unexpectedly.

You see, I last saw fireworks in Lord of the Rings. In the first episode of the trilogy, Gandalf stirs a little colour and life into Hobbitville by exhibiting some of the finest fireworks in his possession, but I was hardly dazzled by the incandescent display. I remember thinking to myself that I was a little too old for fireworks, that it's merely a mishmash of carefully selected chemicals that combust to the tune of a hundred different shades of colour.

Yet, when I was contorting myself to try to fit into whatever little niche was left in the solid wall of human beings on the Esplanade bridge, squeezing to try to get a better view of the skyline, things just changed.

When the fireworks began and the sky bloomed like a nursery of flowers, the crowd screamed and yelled, and I was infused with this cheeky zest. Roused to the occasion, I whooped and yelped to every burst of colour, and actually whined when the last shell echoed in the far distance.

Looks like the boy in me is still alive and kicking. =)