The Night When The Tokyo Skies Sparkled

It was sweltering. Edogawa, Tokyo. 1st August 2026. 34 degrees celsius.

Thirty-four. How can you possibly frolic around in this heat? With a kimono on top of that.

I did.

I went to see the Edogawa Fireworks Festival with my Sensei from Malaysia. From
Shinozaki Station towards the Edogawa River, I walked until my legs went numb. The
wafting scent of Yakitori and Ikayaki filled the street, mixed with sweat and despair. I was
already tired, and I was parched. My legs are about to give in until my Sensei ever so kindly
lets me stop to get a drink at one of the cafes on the way. All I got was 2 iced teas. Then, we
had to move on. My Sensei said that her student had reserved a seat for us since early
afternoon. I thought she was joking.

Until I saw the whole scene of Matsuri unfolding in front of my very own eyes.

Worse than a rush hour on an average Tuesday morning on the Tozai Line. As bad as
Shinjuku on an everyday basis. It made me question if I’m really the extrovert I thought I
was. I thought I liked people.

People like my Sensei and I were rushing towards the river. One girl dropped her Kanzashi
from her donned bun while scurrying with her lover amongst the crowd. We got them in time
and he picked it up and thanked on her behalf.

A lover, huh.

After 20 grueling minutes, we found Sensei’s student, who is apparently my senpai of a
couple of years. I finally got to sit down. It was by a slope, so it wasn’t so comfortable as I
had to cross over a few picnic mats, avoiding stepping on any of them. (I kind of did,
anyway). Us three sat down, chattered, munched on chips and iced tea until the first high
pitched whistle blared into the Tokyo night sky.

PEW! A bouquet of crimson flowers bloomed like Tsubakis in spring.

Then followed by another. Golden hues followed by green burst into the sky, like Himawaris
on an open field.

And another. They scatter in purple swirls like Ajisais during Tsuyu.

Each flower twinkled in between my irises. Like shooting stars, they travel from my eyes to
the back of my head, sealed away within the walls of my brain where I store my core
memories. Hoping they are all stored there.

Someone once told me that you can’t really choose what you want to remember.

Well, then, I hope to remember the Hanabis for a very, very long time.