22.11.98

The fireworks sparkled in the sky, a shower of light and glittering pyrotechnics scattered to the ground in swirling patterns and bursts of radiance. I almost didn't stay to see them; Melbourne evenings, even in spring, can be bitterly cool. Yet something - probably the social aspect - made me stay, and I actually enjoyed my old high school's 25th anniversary celebrations.

Fireworks can be beautiful... like mirror shards tossed up into the air, explosive confetti twinkling to the ground, honoured by excited squeals and the ooohs and aaaahs of the onlooking crowd. People gathered underneath the umbrella of wonderment, as if worshipping pagan gods through primitive fire rituals.

But what inspires the yearning of beauty and loveliness can also strike fear in the heart of man. Why do I fear that which I know can't hurt me? The spearheads of man-made stars will not fall to earth and pierce me where I stand; nor will the opinions and beliefs of other people slice me open and cause a gaping wound to rend my soul.

If I hurt, I will express myself. It is, as I have been told, about closure - saying what's really on my mind, and in my heart; wanting to get my thoughts out somewhere, be heard, be understood, and then heal. Honesty, of course, will go astray with others. There is no way of pleasing everybody, and if I find a way, I'm sure that a black hole will hence be ripped in the fabric of the universe, and everything will go awry. I don't want that.

The fireworks will fall, and I will stand. I am over everything, and you cannot take away my pride.