Friday night. Liberation day public holiday. I had spent the day relaxing, grocery shopping, eating bun cha and was just getting ready for an early night when Mum came home, thundering up the stairs calling my name. I heard my door clang open and my name called, but I was in my bathroom pantsless and mid-floss and my timid replies were lost.

Dental hygiene process complete and pants on, I went to see what all the commotion was about. I shouted. She wasn’t in her room or in the kitchen. I stood on the stairs and screamed, frustrated that her insufficient search hadn’t found me and now she was missing and I was missing out on whatever it was that was going on. Stomp up the last flight of stairs, turn right, open the door and onto the roof. “I thought you were out”, she said “there are going to be fireworks at 9pm”. Fireworks. A decade of living in Sydney, as well as making you despise public transport and mexican food ensures that you’ll be jaded against fireworks. Pfft, seen ‘em all.

9pm struck, and I was in the shower, as I often am on such occasions. I could see flashes of colour through my frosted bathroom window, and the entire room was vibrating with violence. If it weren’t for the pretty bright colours high in the night air and the feeling of festivity, bombs could have been exploding.

Fear of missing the fun saw me on the roof minutes later, eyes glued to a clear expanse of sky straight ahead. Synchronised flowers exploded up there, planets and stars fell apart and floated towards us. Wave after wave of booms followed by explosions of light delight had us gasping in awe. I could hear onlookers on nearby rooftops applauding after each new set of coloured sparks boomed and suddenly appeared, lighting up the darkness.

More than a few times we stepped back from the edge, worried that those burning flying scraps would take out an eye they were so close. It was almost like watching a 3D movie, except I was standing outside in the breeze smelling burning sugar and getting showered by ash. Palms grew above us and spiders came so close that they almost touched our roof. There was booming like machine gun fire and whistling like bombs being dropped. Neat choreography kept us entertained and in awe. There were sperm-like fish that exploded when they hit each other, mini waterfalls, and any number of flowers. A pause and suddenly the whole sky was alight again with not yet seen shapes and colours. We had front row seats to our own private war-themed fireworks display.

These Liberation Day fireworks have made me love pyrotechnics dearly, and ruined them for me forever. No longer will I be able to happily view them from afar, around trees and buildings and jostling for space with hundreds of other onlookers, no. I’ve seen how amazing fireworks can be and I can’t ever go back, I’ve had a private screening and being shoved in with the huddled masses just won’t do. I fear that this is what flying Business class would be like.

What seemed like hours later it was over. As I picked burned and blackened scraps of plastic off my arms Mum said “next year we’ll have a party”.

This entry was posted on Saturday, May 1st, 2010 at 6:01 pm and is filed under Hanoi, Tay Ho.