A pyrotechnic extravaganza where the night sky became a canvas of shimmering chaos, and the streets turned into an ER waiting room. That could only happen in the Philippines and Wednesday morning’s 2025 welcome was no different.

It’s not New Year unless a hapless uncle loses a finger to a rogue “pla-pla,” or a neighbor’s roof gets singed by a wayward “Judas belt.” Add to that the sporadic sound of gunfire because, apparently, some folks still believe bullets are fireworks — a notion as sound as believing snakes are legless because they’re on a perpetual diet.

Every 31st of December, Filipinos channel their inner Michael Bay, reveling in the time-honored tradition of turning cash into smoke and ash. The logic? To drive away bad spirits. But isn’t it ironic that in chasing away evil spirits, we summon ambulances instead? Midnight arrives, and so does calamity — a parade of burns, amputations, and the occasional tragic headline that reminds us just how thin the line is between celebration and catastrophe.

This year was no different. Reports of injuries trickled in as predictably as the sunrise. Little Timmy’s sparklers got out of hand. Tito Jun insisted on lighting a “lolo thunder” after a round of gin. And some genius decided that pointing a gun skyward was the perfect way to usher in prosperity. (Spoiler alert: Gravity doesn’t take holidays.)

So, when will this stop? When will we collectively say, “Hey, maybe New Year’s doesn’t need to double as an audition for a disaster movie?” The answer lies somewhere between “when pigs fly” and “when snakes learn to dance.” Because let’s face it, Filipinos love their traditions —especially the loud, flashy, slightly dangerous ones. Fireworks are woven into the cultural fabric, right next to karaoke battles and lechon. To abandon them feels almost sacrilegious, like serving spaghetti without hotdog.

But 2025 isn’t just any year — it’s the Year of the Snake. In Chinese zodiac lore, snakes symbolize wisdom, elegance and mystery — a stark contrast to the annual bedlam that greets January 1st.

Perhaps the Year of the Snake is the perfect time for introspection. Snakes shed their skin, leaving the old behind to embrace the new. Maybe it’s time we shed our addiction to firecrackers and embrace safer, saner ways to celebrate. Laser light shows, drone displays, or even just a heartfelt family toast — these alternatives don’t just preserve fingers, they also preserve the peace (and your bank account).

Of course, the government has tried to rein in the chaos. Regulations on firecracker sales and designated “firework zones” pop up every year like party favors. But enforcement is spotty at best. By 11 p.m., every barangay becomes a battlefield and the sky’s ablaze with defiance. The laws, much like your New Year’s resolutions, are largely ignored.

And let’s not forget the economic argument: The firecracker industry employs thousands. Banning it outright would be pulling the rug out from under these workers. But can’t we find a middle ground? Transition these skills into producing safer, environmentally-friendly alternatives?

As the smoke clears and the sun rises on January 1st, the aftermath is sobering. Streets littered with debris, hospital ERs overflowing, and a collective hangover — literal and figurative. The revelry is over, leaving us to face the consequences. But maybe this is the year — the Year of the Snake — when wisdom finally takes hold. Maybe this is the year we let go of old, harmful habits and embrace new traditions that honor life, not endanger it.

Until then, Happy New Year! Keep your fingers intact, your roofs unscorched, and your bullets… well, not airborne. May the Year of the Snake slither some sense in our celebrations. And if not, there’s always next year — and the year after that. Because if there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s making noise — whether through fireworks or fiery debates about them.

e-mail: mannyangeles27@gmail.com