Skip to main content

FIREWORKS IN ISTANBUL

On December 31st of 2016 I went to celebrate New Year's Eve and watch a few fireworks in Hershey, PA. Earlier that day, a club filled with revelers was bombed in Istanbul, Turkey, leaving many dead and more injured.

I was sad about the bombing, but decided I wasn't going to let that get in the way of me celebrating the beginning of 2017.

I enjoyed my time in Hershey until the fireworks went off. The sounds of those fireworks reminded me of the first time I had ever heard them. The first time I learned about fireworks, the local stadium set them off and hadn't notified anyone, so when the fireworks went off everyone thought they were gun shots (we had also never heard gun shots, but lived in a high crime area so that seemed the most rational explanation for the sound). The "shooting" lasted for too long so someone finally decided to go outside and caught the last few bursts. They started yelling for all the neighbors to come out to see the fireworks. By the time I came out the firework show was over and it was hard to convince me that whatever had created all that smoke was really beautiful to watch.

The memory of that first exposure to fireworks really hit me hard when the 2016 fireworks were going off in Hershey, PA. I wondered how many folks thought as they were celebrating in Istanbul that the sounds were of bombs and not of fireworks. I hope that those who died did not suffer and simply went thinking fireworks were putting on a show for them as they were ringing in the new year. I think I prefer that to the thought of everyone assuming those sounds belong to shots or bombs, when they are sounds of fireworks.

I also wondered how many Americans realized the sound they were celebrating, the sound that was bringing them so much joy, was also bringing so much devastation not too far away. I marveled at the power of explosives how beautiful and terrifying they can be all at once.

So I welcomed 2017 grateful that explosives entertained me and very aware of the fact that not all explosions are entertaining. Let's show solidarity in 2017 to those who experience the terrifying sounds and consequences of explosives.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THOUGHTS ON MOTHERS, FASHION AND BODY IMAGE

It wasn't until I was 13 years old that I learned I was fat. That was the year I moved to the United States and began to have a difficult time finding clothes that fit appropriately. I never really thought about that change until much later when I would look back on childhood photos and was surprised by how well my clothes fit, and how well-dressed I mostly was. As someone who is very fashionably challenged, I was surprised that at some point in time, I knew how to dress well...and I seemed to have lost the skill once I had many clothing options. When did I lose that skill? I began to explore that phenomena and quickly came to an odd realization. In the U.S. I clearly always had more clothing options that I ever did in Venezuela. Ready-made clothes in the U.S. were affordable so everyone could buy them. That was the key, in Venezuela, ready-made clothes were very expensive, so not too many people purchased them. In fact, I don't remember my mom buying anything ready-mad...

I CAN'T PASS JUDGMENT ANYMORE

I know all of my friends are loving the ease and convenience of carrying books around on a Kindle, or whatever the gadget of the day is, but this move to electronic reading is really affecting my ability to judge others, yes, you heard me right-judging others is now difficult. It used to be that I could sit on the train and just by watching book covers, and their respective readers, I would get an idea of what books I might like. Now, everyone has a kindle and I can't really derive reading recommendations without appearing to be a stalker. But worse than that, new friendships are severely affected. I used to be able to walk into someone's house and look at their bookcase and know whether I should run the other way-now, the non-visibility of books makes identifying incompatibility so much more difficult. For example, if someone were to walk into my house, this is what they might see:   You would be correct in making quite a few assumptions about me based on this ...

MOTHERHOOD: A SITE OF VICIOUS NEGOTIATION

I woke up this morning to a baby puking on me while smiling unapologetically. For the first time her lack of inhibition worried me. This Mother's Day, I thought I'd be reflecting on being a mother for the first time and jot down some mushy words, instead, I think back to the day I walked in on my mom having greater aspirations for my daughter than she did for me.   My dad raised me to thrive in the world I deserved, my mom raised me to survive in the world I was born into. Needles to say, my dad's parenting was liberating and empowering, my mom's was stifling and suffocating, so of the two parents I always rebelled against HER. She would often say that I was created fighting her given how difficult her pregnancy was with me. She was right, my earliest memories with my mom are of our arguments. We fought like the swords of two warriors: I was driven by a desire to be free and capable, her by fear that I might suffer consequences the patriarchy metes out to misbehaving wo...