Here, in America, fireworks serve as reminders of our country's independence. They're also fun to light up and watch as the colors splash across a darkened sky. So, who doesn't like fireworks?
My family members who experienced the Khmer Rouge. That's who.
Every year, my mom would recount the days spent running from the Pol Pot as the sound of fireworks fill the night. Instead of independence, these celebratory mementos would serve as reminders of gunshots. The thought of gunshots brought with it memories of war, pain, and loss.
Twice a year, fireworks are used in celebration.
Twice a year, my mother relives her most painful memories.
How can something so beautiful shine on something so dreadful?
Comments (3)
That's so sad. Seriously. How could something so beautiful and exciting bring such awful memories?
i know what you mean. my mom doesn't shudder out the sight of fireworks, but she experiences pain/nightmares/reliving horrible trauma very frequently, often triggered by normal everyday things.
*sigh*
ah yeah.
we dont do fireworks here either.
donuts?