Lemon Tsupryk Q4 #1: Fireflies
Have you ever noticed how soft darkness becomes in the summer?
Not as lonely as it is in winter, instead more akin to pulling your blanket all the way over your head and letting your breath and body heat envelop you fully. In the summer, the streetlights are more orange—not as neon, not as cold. Breathing does not feel like drinking cold water with a cough drop in your mouth. In the evening, the grass exhales all the heat it had absorbed from the scorching sun during the day, and existing outside becomes bearable again.
It was on one of these nights that my mother told me she had something to show me.
We slipped on our shoes and climbed down the stairs of our apartment under the light of the entrance lamp, warm as all lights seem when tinted by childhood. Light orange, dark blue, dark green.
And they were there, in a patch of darkness, waiting for us. Glowing, swirling lights, something I had never seen before. It was as if my mother, the single being who has been there always, was lifting the curtain to reveal something secret, something precious; a magic trick handed down through generations and generations of humans—little, glowing, living. I stood there, barely three feet above the dark green grass, watching. Witnessing.
I was three, then, maybe four, and I never developed a fear of bugs like most other kids did—even though my mother is terrified of spiders. I still don't know why she had taken me to see the fireflies back then; it seems out of character for her, the strict, practical woman that she is. I don’t know if she knows that it is the best childhood memory she ever gifted me, she might not have even thought much of it at the time. You never know what a child will remember and keep tucked away in the pocket between their ribcage and their spine.
Ten years later, my father broke a plate in our Hawaii hotel room.
He didn’t mean to, he was trying to help my mother by washing the dishes after dinner and it slipped out of his hand, unsteady after a glass of wine. I remember retreating out to the balcony then, sliding the glass door open to find summer waiting for me on the other side. Watching the city lights below, bright specks like tall clouds of fireflies frozen in time. Summer air settled on me as I stood there, surrounded by light orange, dark blue, dark green.
I don’t think I’ll ever have children. But, if I were a parent, I’d rather teach them to love fireflies than to fear broken glass. Though most things aren’t taught intentionally, I guess.
I’m not sure about the fireflies, but broken glass (whether done intentionally or not) is definitely an experience many children have. There’s something so jarring about the sound porcelain makes as it makes contact with the floor at a minimum speed of 9.81 meters per second squared. The sound of something breaking—it carries inherent negative connotations. It sounds wrong. The shards cut skin, as if lashing out at being shattered. Glass is something that just has to be “handled with care,” labels say. The stickers flash threateningly in the light, a flushed, angry red.
ReplyDeleteChildren are to touching stoves as glass is to shattering; a disaster waiting to happen. It’s a net positive, though, to realize that humans aren’t glass: people break (and never stop breaking) and heal (and never stop healing) before breaking again. Maybe life is littered with broken glassware, metaphorical and physical. Maybe the shards are sharp and angry, and maybe they’ll bite at a finger and draw blood. But for every broken mug, there must be another ten fireflies. Great drawing this week, Lemon (as usual)!
Lemon, this blog was incredibly poetic to read. Core childhood memories are ones that I too think back on often to remind myself of how I came to be the person I am today. I have never seen a firefly but I really would love to. I have watched so many movies and TV shows where they light up campfire nights and add the perfect magical touch to a moment. It is also interesting to me that this beautiful phenomenon is often used by fireflies to ward off predators and protect themselves against danger. It is both mystical and practical. In terms of breaking glass, the closest feeling I can get to that is the time I accidentally pulled a towel rod off the wall in my parents bathroom. I know it is not the same thing but I too was terrified and felt extremely guilty even though it was not intentional. It is interesting to think about which memories choose to stick with us over long periods of time. Beyond your content, your writing style is truly admirable. I especially loved how you repeated the visual of “light orange, dark blue, dark green” as the distinct imagery of two different points in your life. I also think your drawing is incredible. The glass looks so realistic and I cannot wrap my head around the idea of you portraying something transparent so well. I really love how you combined two core memories of your childhood—one good, one bad—into one seamless image. I really enjoyed reading your blog this week.
ReplyDeleteHi Lemon! I very much enjoyed reading about your childhood experiences. Your blog is a great example of how even small, seemingly unimportant experiences in our childhood can later become a major foundation for the way that we view the world. Many times, this happens without our knowledge, let alone our consent, and it is not until years later that we realize what a profound impact that event truly had on us.
ReplyDeleteHowever, I was more under the impression that our early negative experiences had more of a lasting effect, and that they had a tendency to override some of the neutral or more positive experiences. Speaking as someone who cannot remember anything of my life before about six years old, aside from tiny little bits and pieces that I’m not entirely sure were real, I personally am only able to remember the more negative experiences from that period of my life. I think this is because the emotions that these experiences elicited were more memorable. Reading your blog this week gave me a new perspective on how it doesn’t really have to be either or, that is to say, it is completely possible to treasure the positive memories, even if they don’t seem significant, along with the memories that are not as positive.
The movie Inside Out is a great example of the fact that not all memories are “happy.” Initially, all of Riley’s core memories are formed from joyful childhood experiences, but as she grows up and deals with a wider variety of emotional experiences, she is able to develop more complex core memories. Yes, those happy memories play a key role in shaping us, but so do the ones associated with different emotions. In fact, different memories associated with different feelings can actually influence each other, in the way that maybe the reason that the fireflies are so meaningful to you might actually be because there are those somewhat harsher memories alongside them, not in spite of them. Thank you so much for sharing!
Fireflies have always been related to childhood in some way. I remember going camping with my family friend and we would go sneak off from our tents in the middle of the night. Outside, there was tall grass and fireflies would flutter around—not sure why they like tall grass, maybe they smell better than shorter grass. One of my favorite Ghibli movies is "Grave of the Fireflies," and it follows the story of the siblings Setsuko and Seita in Japan during World War II's firebombing attacks. From the title, the fireflies died and it represents how Setsuko and Seita lose their childhood innocence. I think the idea of a firefly is what sparks the curiosity in a child. We are taught that bugs are disgusting and sometimes dangerous, but we see a beautiful ball of fuzzy light contrasting against the darkness.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing