Set during a Filipino New Year street celebration, this short story follows Gustavo—a man caught between fading traditions, family noise, and the quiet certainty of change. Amid fireworks, karaoke, and overflowing plates, he begins to understand what he is about to leave behind.
An Empty Harvest
“War is an empty harvest. The gods gave mankind intellect and hands meant to build worlds, yet we turned them toward crafting weapons for our shared destruction.”
A rotund man, lighter in hand, proclaims in a well-lit room.
“Higher beings mock us. They watch with contempt and disgust as we march toward our end.”
He dramatically lifts his head and clutches his lighter.
“No more! Our forefathers taught us better than silence and submission. However insignificant our nation is perceived to be, we rise in defiance beneath their mocking gaze and set the night sky ablaze! We shall go forth with burning passion—with fire in our blood and thunder in our hearts—and we will… we will… ugh…”
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| All the noise leads here. |
Interrupted Oration
“What the hell are you going on about with my kids, you fatass?”
A stern male voice cuts through, further disrupting the clearly struggling Gustavo.
Two little girls and a little boy stare at the rotund Gustavo, who was trying to keep the toddlers’ attention.
“What? Just trying to embolden them to embrace our tradition—lighting firecrackers to meet the new year.”
“We only have sparklers.”
“No pla-pla? Trumpilyo? Super Weasel bombs? Super Lolo? Dancing dragon? Sinturon ni Hudas?” Gustavo asks.
“All those are illegal nowadays. Now let the kids play and get the whiskey. Your sister is back with the chaser, and the Juicy Jesuit just arrived.”
With a faint, tired recognition, Gustavo takes a bottle of Jim Beam from his bag and moves on, leaving the children to play.
A Filipino Street Feast
A long table is set up on the street outside Gustavo’s brother’s home, the kind often used for neighborhood gatherings in the Philippines during festive occasions. Food lies across the table as neighbors greet one another, and the karaoke fires up for brave wannabe pop icons.
“HEY JUNNIE!! HOW’S THE JUICY JESUITS?!”
Gustavo mockingly greets his older brother, who happens to be a Catholic priest.
“Shut up!”
A dismissive yet playful response.
The siblings take their seats as family and friends filter in. Greetings and laughter fill the air as the succulent smell of Filipino barbecue cooking on an open grill tickles the nostrils of hungry visitors. Small explosions from distant fireworks punctuate the night. Festive lights flicker all around, illuminating smiling, laughing faces.
And then—
BANG.
A loud explosion cuts through, startling the toddlers. The adults exchange knowing smiles as drinks continue to flow.
Memories of Noise and Fire
“Goodbye, Philippines?” Junnie asks between spoonfuls of fruit salad.
“Yup… illegality doesn’t inhibit availability,” Gustavo responds.
“Remember the year 2000? Pops handed me ten thousand pesos and sent me to buy firecrackers in Bocaue. The gang joined me to buy fireworks for their families. Al tried to light a cigarette inside the owner-type jeep we took—we almost kicked his ass!”
The eldest brother, father of the kids from earlier, reminisces, drawing laughter from the group.
“I remember the Super Weasel bomb—you know, the dynamite. It cracked the sidewalk!” Gustavo’s sister adds, earning even more laughter.
A Feast Meant to Be Remembered
Gustavo gorges himself on the feast before him. Rice cakes from Ilocos, brought by his brother’s Ilokano neighbors. Macaroni salad and Filipino-style spaghetti prepared by his sister. Traditional round fruits sit at the center of the table.
Sarciadong tilapia, lumpiang ubod, Bicol Express, mechado, and ginataang hito grace the gathering. And, of course, rice—ever-present.
Joyous laughter, high notes from the karaoke, and distant fireworks fill the night.
Early Departures
Ring! Ring!
An alarm cuts through the festivities. Junnie reaches into his pocket and addresses his siblings.
“I gotta go. I have a mass in an hour.”
He downs his soda and grabs one last piece of lumpia.
“I’ll go too. I have a 5 a.m. shift tomorrow,”
Gustavo adds, shoving a spoonful of rice and mechado into his mouth before chasing it with a whole lumpiang ubod.
“Lame! We know Junnie has to—but you can call in sick!” their sister drunkenly interrupts.
“I’m paid double tomorrow. Plus, I need to lodge a few more claims. Damn idiots got into collisions over Christmas break,” Gustavo explains.
“So you can’t make it tomorrow before her flight?", the eldest brother asks. "She leaves at 1 p.m. I’ll get her to the airport by ten. We’ll drop by the old folks’ place first.”
Both Gustavo and Junnie decline before departing in their respective cars.
Early departures—a yearly occurrence in the family’s year-end reunion. A far cry from the all-night drinking and firecracker lighting of decades past.
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| The night keeps singing. Gustavo does not. |
11:59 PM
The cold wind is sullied with gunpowder. The clock reads 11:59 p.m.
Horns blare. Fireworks explode. Motorcycle mufflers roar. Filipinos make as much noise as possible to drive away the evil spirits of the old year.
In his garage, Gustavo sits alone in his familiar chair. He takes a long drag from his Chesterfield cigarette and exhales a cloud of smoke.
“Happy New Year,” he says to the wind.
If the idea of higher beings looking down on humanity caught your attention, read When Aliens Discovered Corporate Life: A Galactic Roast, a satirical exploration of that very thought. For something closer to home—and far less dignified—check out Holy Heist: Juicy Jesuits’ Safety-Pin Bank Robbery & Drunk Koala Getaway, a mock headline inspired by Junnie’s alleged exploits.
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