(Two days from now, when the clock strikes midnight Saturday, humanity will once again ring in the new year and say goodbye to 2022. While digging on old files of our past columns, we stumbled upon this article published in this paper and found that its message holds every time we experience that midnight madness. We reprint this 30 December 2021 column piece to serve as a warning to those intending to celebrate the new year with those bigger, new firecrackers.)

Boknoy and his playmate, Bugoy, were merrily enjoying their time in the yard as Casmot and I were busy catching up in the living room a day before New Year's Eve.

Boknoyis Casmot's youngest, while Bugoy is their neighbor's teenage son. They were both test-firing some firecrackers brought by the latter. He got it from his dad, in preparation for tomorrow's midnight madness.

"Why are you allowing them to explode those triangulos?" we asked Casmot. "Aren't those dangerous for youngsters?"

"Ah, those small triangles are kid stuff," Casmot dismissed our reminder. "Besides didn't we at one time, when we're their age, lit up some of those?

"Of course, I remember," I blurted. "But then didn't we stop those wild celebrations when one of our neighborhood friends miscalculated and got injured, forcing doctors to sever two of his fingers?"

"Yeah. And that was because he was lighting up those big Judas' belt, which is powerful enough to maim if you are not careful."

"Those were the days, Casmot," I nodded in agreement. "Remember the pact that we did that we'll never celebrate with firecrackers anymore? We contended ourselves with pailaws after that."

Just then, a loud booming sound disrupted our reminiscing. It was so loud we could still hear its reverberation seconds after the initial explosion.

"What was that? "We asked Casmot. "Must be from one of those newer, bigger firecrackers like Pla-pla and Super Lolo," he told us as he went to call Boknoy. "Did you just explode those?"

"It's Bugoy, Dad. He was trying the Super Yolanda."