Childhood goes by in a blur.
Most of my tween years have vanished into the hazy fog of forgetfulness. But there is one night I can't stop recalling.
I was jamming Pokémon White on the old Nintendo DSI, totally engrossed into that archaic little device. Until my mum told me to get a move on outside.
"It's Guy Fawke's Day"
Now I had – and still have – no idea who Guy Fawkes was. But like the filial and honourable son I was, I listened to her, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by people (family friends and relatives I presume) and standing in the middle of our suburb street.
We lit some of those little sparkly sticks that fire off streams of light! It was absolutely wonderful. Completely sublime. If there was any word to describe it, it would be: "Magic". Complete, pure, stunning magic.
Never had I ever felt more like a child. Now when I see one of those sparkly sticks, I light up with glee. My favourite fireworks are actually those golden ones that spread out in that golden dandelion shape. They burst in the same patterns the sticks sparkle.
I'm no longer a child. Responsibilities pile. There're people that count on me as much as I count on them.
But there's this unique sense of wonder we had as a child - when the world truly was a magical, wondrous place. When your imagination had no bounds. Where you could pretend your potatoes were potato knights and make them fight against the carrot nation.
And as cliché as this is going to sound, when my dad would drive me back from karate at night, I could never stop myself from looking upwards, and gazing at the stars.
They made me feel so miniscule.
Small, insignificant, and so terribly in awe.
For what a mysterious, terrifying, and wonderful world we live in.
There are three things I will still do when I'm eighty.
And every day will feel like gazing at the stars.