Childhood Memoir “I don’t remember how long it has been since I heard long, loud blasts of fireworks. I miss spending the Lunar New Year in Beijing.” It was the night of the Lunar New Year. I felt sad as I laid on my bed, scrolling through TikTok because it was so quiet in our house and outside. “Mainland China now doesn’t even allow fireworks being fired now, because of air pollution,” my mom replied. I remembered that my family would gather together and celebrate this annual tradition every Lunar New Year. During the day, we would dress in warm-toned colors such as red, orange, or yellow since it welcomes good happiness and prosperity for the next year and clean our house to wipe out any dust that could affect our luck and what we bring into our home. As the sky dims, the sound of pots and spoons crash as the smell of delicious foods flows out of the kitchen. The shape of each dish represents something that we will bring into the following year, such as fish, symbolizing abundance and surplus; egg dumplings shaped as golden nuggets back in the old times; and elderlies would often enjoy long, thin noodles, symbolizing longevity. We enjoy the meal with laughter and smiles on our faces while children would usually say a wish to the elderly as they give out red packets in return. The annual TV live broadcast for the festival was always a must; we would turn on the TV, change to Station 4, and wait until 8:00 for the show to begin. Dances, songs, sketch comedy, Chinese opera, everything festival-like in there, it was something that we can never miss on the lunar festival night. “This year’s sketch comedy is so funny, look at him,” my uncle laughed as I shifted the attention from the card game to the TV. Suddenly, a scream fills up the living room as my cousins run after each other. “Hey! Stop running around the house and go help your mom!” They stopped for a second. Despite the scolding, they still managed to continue the annoying, childish play a few minutes after. “How’s your managing job application going recently?” “Good, they put me as the manager.” “Someone bring this dish to the table!” “Coming!” Time flies as we prepare for this holiday. The last part of the day was the most fascinating to me as a child: Fireworks. A few days before the event, my dad would bring me around Beijing, searching for pop-up shops that sell fireworks. Initially, they just looked like giant, red boxes or shiny, thin, little sticks stored in a transparent plastic bag, but I already knew that they would be loud and beautiful in the night sky. Most of the time I would spend my new year at my grandparents’ apartment, along with grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, etc. The house was filled with chattering noises and childish laughs. Since my grandparents’ house is located on the 69th floor, we could clearly see the fireworks that were already being fired. Before the clock hit twelve, I would step over to the bay windows, tiptoeing to watch all the fireworks. The endless sounds of fireworks blooming and the colorful flames carved into my memory as it was something special to me, and to the Lunar New Year. As a child, I was fascinated by fireworks’ different shapes and colors. Some bloomed in one second, others had a delay, all different sorts of the fireworks together as a whole fabricated a night of performance. It was our turn to set ours. A small flame emerged as my dad lit the string with a lighter; it started to gradually increase as it reached the red paper cover. The smoke began to rise until a light
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