Beyond the Flames
When you think of the word “fire”, what comes to mind? So many thoughts rush through my mind. I think of prehistoric men sitting in caves, rubbing sticks together, smiling and cheering in disbelief that they have created a spark which would change the course history forever. Maybe I have this idea embedded in my mind from all the images and cartoons I’ve seen since I was a child. I’ve never met a caveman myself, so this misconception or preconceived notion that I have is based on images that Hollywood has fed my mind since I was a child, and textbooks that have brainwashed my ideas since I was in elementary school. I put these ideas together and BAM!—I’m stuck thinking that fire was created by cavemen who were freezing their Neanderthal butts off after a hard day’s work of hunting and gathering. Who really knows? Maybe it was a cave woman who created fire, but of course, the men are given the credit. Maybe it was the women who created the fire in the cave while the men were out hunting and gathering, and so my stream of consciousness continues. Fire- the beginning of life?
When I think of fire, I also think about candles. I’ll never forget a song that I learned in Sunday School when I was about four years old. I remember sitting in a circle with the other children as we looked at a candle and sang “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine. Don’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. At four years old, I did not understand how Satan would blow out my candle. I didn’t really know what the candle or light represented. I just knew that it was a song that I liked and my Sunday School teacher had fun teaching us the hand motions and gestures that accompanied the song. Later on in life, I realized that the song wasn’t referring to the physical aspect of fire. Instead the light of the candle was a symbol of the goodness and faith that Christian was supposed to hold on to. Fire- the symbol of faith?
So now, I’m realizing that fire can be a symbol of faith. With that in mind, wasn’t fire also used in the passage about the miracle of the burning bush in biblical book of Exodus? Why was it that in the bible, God spoke to Moses through a bush that was burning in flames? Can this possibly mean that Fire is also a symbol for miracles?
Given that I associate fire with candles and faith and miracles, how is it that the term “fire” can evoke so many thoughts and ideas from literature, belief systems and different faiths throughout the course of history? The answer is simple. It is because fire represents so much to so many people. Fire, like blood has become a necessary part of human’s lives. Fire, like water, is needed for people to survive. You hear me right, I said “PEOPLE”. If you think about it, animals do not need fire to survive; in the wild they do not sit under their trees, nor hide in caves hitting sticks together in order to create sparks in which they can keep themselves warm. So this leads me to believe that Fire is an element that humans have taken upon themselves, to play with.
Given that humans have taken it upon themselves to incorporate fire into their daily lives, I have come to the realization that fire is a tool, and tools can be used as deadly weapons. In the Christian belief, doesn’t the bible mention that fire will be used as a form of punishment in hell? According to Biblegateway.com, “14Then (A)death and Hades were thrown into (B)the lake of fire This is the (C)second death, the lake of fire. 15And if anyone's name was not found written in (D)the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.” These biblical references, along with my past experiences with fire have influenced my belief that Fire is a symbol of fear of death.
My first encounter with the power of fire occurred when I was still in elementary school. My family and I decided to meet in the Poconos with the families of my mother’s cultural organization. I remember the night that there was a bonfire. The adults were laughing, telling jokes and taking pictures. The older kids were playing with firecrackers and I stood there in amazement. I was probably six or seven as I watched an older child hold a stick that burned and crackled letting out a stream of sparkling bright flames. I had no ideas that it could not be blown out like a candle. I thought, to the best of my knowledge that the fire cracker was a special candle. As I waited for my mom to turn her back, I asked one of the older children if I could have a fire cracker. They handed me one and I walked away quickly. I watched in amazement as the sparkling flames engulfed the stick. It crackled and gave off a vibrant light that slightly illuminated the darkness of the campground. As I watched the crackling, I saw that the flames were reaching my finger tips. I tried to blow out the fire cracker. I was afraid that if I let go of the fire cracker, I would set the ground on fire. I blew and blew but the spark did not die down. As I watched the fire burn the stick, I felt the hot burning sensation on my fingertips. I screamed and cried as I quickly dropped the stick which to my surprise did not set the ground on fire. My mother came rushing to my cry. Being that she and all her friends were nurses, my fingers were saved.
I didn’t really develop a fear of fire until ten years later. It was the night of my friend’s sweet sixteen. I finally came home after dancing all through the evening with my closest high school friends. We were dressed up in our finest gowns and had our hair done and nails done for the occasion. We celebrated at a manor near my home. It was one of the most beautiful nights of my life until hours after the party ended. It was really late at night or early morning; when I was rudely awaken by the sound of banging and screaming at my front door. I was still dressed in my gown, I passed out on the living room sofa as soon as I got home from the party. As my eyes began to focus, I ran to the door and saw my twelve year old neighbor crying with dark ash on his face. “My house is on Fire!”, he exclaimed in tears. He took refuge in my house for a few hours, along with his older cousin who was also in tears. Together we looked outside the window and saw that their house, which was about one house away from mine, burned in huge orange flames. You may be wondering if my neighbor's family survived. The answer is "yes", all except a few cats.
For months, as I washed the dishes and stared out my kitchen window, I was forced to see the ruined remains of my neighbor’s house. I was constantly reminded of the power that fire had. Weeks after the fire, I learned that it was caused by a candle that was lit near a bottle of nail polish remover. For many years after, my father and mother banned the use of candles in our home. I think it was only after I graduated high school that my father started lighting candles again.
This had a negative effect on my life. I began to develop a paranoia with flames. Even in my first year of college, in my Organic Chemistry course, I refused to use the bunsent burner. I did not want anything to do with fire, I allowed my classmate to do the work as I stood from a clear distance. I guess I was afraid of losing control. The idea of an uncontrolled flame potentially causing a destructive fire, scared me.
As years passed, I thought I put the fear of fire behind me. Yet last year, I went through one of the most nerve racking experiences of my life. During the morning before my 21st birthday in the month of December, I recieved a phone call from a friend to turn on the news. My friend informed me that a Filipino family from my town has perished in a fire. My friend told me to watch the news and see if the name will be revealed. I sat in front of the television, crying wondering who's house it was that they were showing me. I learned that it was a family of five and only had one survivor who was around my age. My heart skipped beats as I frantically called all my Filipino friends in my phone book. Some answered the phone, other’s did not. I was trying to figure it out through process of elimination. Every time I received a voicemail box, I hung up and whispered a quick prayer.
After hours of worrying, I found out that it was my classmate from my graduating class who's family perished in a fire. I could not believe my ears. I then started to feel so bad, so upset and even guilty. I felt guilty because the victim and I were not necessarily in great terms of friendship upon graduation. Yet all the bitterness and resentment towards each other passed because I realized that he had no more room in his life for high school drama. He had to deal with the loss of not only his home, but his parents, grandmother and only sister, who was about the age of my little sister.
Needless to say, I spent that birthday crying and went to a funeral the day after. It was the most difficult funeral I’ve ever had to sit through. I stood there looking at my classmate, as he hugged all the guests and stood in front of his father’s open casket and three tiny urns. I could not believe my eyes; I could not believe that his family was gone. Every day my heart goes out to him. Fire ruined his life.
Posted in: on Sunday, October 19, 2008 at at 8:49 PM
