Photos

Fireworks ascend into the night sky, bloom for a fleeting moment, and disappear into darkness. To me, their brief yet brilliant existence parallels the course of human life.

We often associate the idea of blooming with success, achievement, or recognition, as though only those whose lives are seen and remembered by the world can truly shine. Yet blooming is not a privilege reserved for the extraordinary. Every ordinary person—you, me, and countless others whose names may never be remembered—is experiencing a bloom of their own. Some fireworks rise high enough to illuminate the entire sky; others fade before reaching their peak. Nevertheless, each has burned, leaving behind a moment of light that belonged to its own.

This realization emerged during a conversation with my grandmother. As I listened to her recount the stories of her life, the Cultural Revolution, the Opening Up of China, I began to understand just how much life could contain. Behind a familiar face lies an entire world far richer than what could ever be perceived from the outside. Listening to her stories felt like watching fireworks unfold across the night sky. An unrepeatable trajectory shining across the sky.

Yet what makes fireworks so mesmerizing is also what makes them profoundly melancholic: their transience. No matter how brilliantly they illuminate the darkness, their light inevitably fades. Human life is no different. Time gradually erases our appearances, memories, experiences, and eventually even the traces of our existence. Nothing can be preserved forever.

Titled Hanabi (花火), this photographic series draws upon the Japanese aesthetic sensibility of mono no aware (物の哀れ), a poignant awareness of the impermanence of things. The beauty of fireworks lies in our recognition of its brilliance and that their brilliance cannot last. Their inevitable disappearance makes the act of witnessing them both enchanting and sorrowful.

Perhaps we cannot prevent a single spark from fading, nor can we hold back the passage of time. But while the light remains, we can pause to admire it. While stories can still be told and faces can still be remembered, we can listen, cherish, and appreciate their presence. A life need not last forever, nor be witnessed by the world, to have bloomed beautifully.