Matchsticks and cigarette boxes

You know you’re not a kid anymore when your Lao-based uncle gives you cigarettes for pasalubong.

I’m not sure if he really meant for me to have them because he only told me to keep them when he saw me laughing at the brand. Then again, if my younger cousins were around and they laughed at the name, I don’t think he’d give them a pack. Hmm. For some reason, this reminds me of a childhood memory. A friend and I were playing at the house next door, where my lola (my mom’s aunt) lives. I think I was around five or six when this happened and, my playmate, Mary Jane, was a year older. So anyway, we were playing some game in a spare room when we noticed a nondescript white rice sack sitting on a corner. Since all children are naturally inquisitive, we opened the sack to see what it contained. It was filled to the brim with all these matchboxes. I got one out, slid it open, and saw that it wasn’t empty; there were matches inside and they came in different colors. Mary Jane and I were oohed and ahhed as though we’ve never seen matchsticks up close. Well, we actually haven’t since we normally aren’t allowed to touch matches at home. Curious to see if all the other matchboxes had colored matches in them too, we then proceeded to open each and every box. All these colorful matches! Some came in red, some came in blue, other boxes even contained colors like pink. We were very giddy about our discovery and began to invent a little game that involved the prettiest matchsticks we could find.

Then my tita came in and screamed when she saw us looking up at her with matches in our hands and guilty expressions on our faces. I guess she thought we were gonna go all pyro on her and set the house on fire. I didn’t have the vocabulary then to explain that we were just looking at the matches because they were so pretty and that we know what they’re for and we aren’t going to eat them or scratch the tips against the side of the boxes. Boy, were we in trouble. Mary Jane ended up getting whipped by my lola using a black leather belt on a chair in the dining room. It happened in front of me and I remember sitting on a chair, watching my friend yell in pain, trembling in fear because I was certain that the same fate awaited me. But when my lola was done, she didn’t tell me to lie on the chair as I expected she would; instead, she gave me this lecture on why we aren’t supposed to play with matches. I’m not sure what I said after that, I think I apologized and said nothing about how I already know that matches are dangerous and we aren’t supposed to touch them. A few minutes later, she hugged me and apologized for yelling at me. Hmm. I just realized that I’d never been whipped by a belt, ever.

So yeah. Moving on to the present day. Thanks Tito. \m/