Despite what remnants there are today of its original historical context, Guy Fawkes Day is simply this: a good excuse for fireworks.
More commonly known to me as Bonfire Night, the holiday resembles a concoction of American Halloween and July 4th.
To me, Bonfire Night symbolized coming back to boarding school after half term break. The fireworks are impressive, but only for a fleeting moment. The more lasting memories I have, however, are gazing up at them with the warmth of my friends surrounding me.
As a 17 year old, I remember lugging a massive suitcase up the stairs of the sixth-form flats, pushing open door after door until finally plunking down my case in my room and running downstairs to greet them. Upon throwing open the entry door to our flat, there was an explosion of girlish shrieking like you wouldn’t believe. We
hugged and chatted about our holidays, reveling in the moment.
The bonfire lit, the picture complete. Against the cold, damp meteorological conditions, students and their families moved in close together, mak- ing their way down the hill to the farmland which encircled our tiny school in Chipping Norton, England.
Aside from the howling sounds of six-meter soaring flames, I heard the squishing of mud and grass beneath my leather boots, getting them absolutely ruined. As I found a space and watched the firework show peel off the sky, I readied myself for another half term of school.
Accompanied by dear friends and a cup of hot chocolate, there could be nothing more nostalgic than this edifying moment—coming back, focus- ing on what’s really important, realizing we all have something to celebrate.
