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This year, I finally accepted the fact that I’m old. Yep, 40 effing years old! To put it in perspective, I’m now as old as the Philippine Daily Inquirer. That thought alone makes me pause, because it means I’ve lived through the paper’s headlines, the shifting political landscapes, and the cultural waves that defined the 90s. And when I look back, nothing captures the raw, unfiltered joy of childhood quite like New Year’s Eve in Cavite during that decade.
Fireworks Were the Real Deal
As a kid, I remember fireworks being everywhere—cheap, abundant, and unapologetically loud. The notorious watusi could be bought at almost every sari-sari store, despite the repeated warnings from parents who feared its toxic “bite.” Back then, firecrackers weren’t watered down—they were the real deal. Some would misfire, sure, but most packed enough punch to rattle windows and leave your ears ringing.
My cousin and I, in our reckless creativity, once made a “pillbox” from collected firecracker powder. We placed it under a flat stone, wrapped it in paper, and hurled it skyward. The resulting explosion was so deafening I sprinted inside, terrified neighbors would complain. The stone landed on our neighbor’s plastic roof, puncturing it like a bullet. Needless to say, our parents scolded us the next day—proof that childhood mischief always came with consequences. But honestly? No regrets.
Then there was the night I was stuck on the couch with a fever. My dad, maybe thinking a blast would cheer me up, lit a “baby dynamite” just three feet from where I lay. The explosion was so intense I forgot I was ill. For a moment, the fever evaporated into smoke and adrenaline. That’s how explosive New Year was back then—it could jolt you out of sickness or boredom.
We didn’t have giant speakers, but our stereo was enough. My mom played Christmas songs loud enough to make me feel elated, the melodies bouncing off the walls as if they were part of the fireworks themselves.
Family Rituals
The rules were simple: before midnight, we had to be home. No excuses. I remember the yearly mission of fetching my half-drunk father from a friend’s house nearby, making sure he was back before the clock struck twelve. My mom would remind me and my brother to wash the gray powder off our hands before eating. I can still see my sister’s smile as we sat together, sharing food and laughter.
There were no smartphones then, no interruptions from people sending greetings online or taking endless photos. The celebration was uninterrupted and lived in the moment.
The Aftermath
After the countdown, the smoke was so thick you couldn’t see anything. The streets turned into foggy battlefields, the air heavy with gunpowder and laughter. Inside our house, my mom’s patatim, valenciana, and callos simmered on the table, filling the air with aromas that competed with the acrid scent outside.
Things felt simpler then. The world seemed smaller, yet somehow more vivid.
The ’90s Backdrop
The 90s weren’t just about fireworks. They were about “Marimar” dominating primetime, the local alternative music scene with the Eraserheads and Rivermaya at the forefront, Barangay Ginebra’s never-say-die spirit (even if I was rooting for Alaska), the political shifts under Fidel Ramos and later Joseph Estrada, and the ideological rift within the revolutionary movement. I wasn’t deeply into current events (I was only 14 in 1999), but my father seemed to never miss TV Patrol, and his daily newspaper supply kept me informed whether I liked it or not.
Looking Back, Moving Forward
Now, at 40, I look back at those nights when fireworks were louder, the food richer, the music warmer, and the family moments uninterrupted. Nostalgia isn’t just about mourning what’s gone—even though I miss my father with every year that passes—it’s about recognizing the beauty of what was and carrying it forward.
And while we don’t always get to celebrate New Year together anymore, and the celebrations may be quieter, more digital, and less explosive, the memories remain thick in my heart.
Because in the end, New Year isn’t about the firepower, it’s about the fire we keep alive in ourselves.
Daniel is an avid lover of music and films. While most people his age would spend their leisure time playing online games, he enjoys creating playlists and movie lists. Daniel has also written opinion pieces for various publications. He studied Political Science at Adamson University and is currently an associate at the Depository Trust & Clearing Corporation. He would never say no to a cold beer!
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Daniel Aloc
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