a tiny fire always marks the start of tét.
your step-father steps out to the backyard with the dirt-covered terracotta pot your mother hasn’t used yet for her next plant. in his right hand are the sheets of paper, folded, with the painted faces of feudal men from ancient china—with your name written in Sharpie. the pink lighter on the patio table waits for the flick of his thumb and for the flame to touch the edges of the paper. you watch behind the window as the fire—small and barely there—turns your name into ashes.
it had always scared you. the act of burning away your name. the four letters that your mother gave you at your first breath so that your ancestors and the spirit of buddha could know you and provide you with good luck and protection.
but really, this fear has always been there in your life. how scared you are of how you must be consumed wholly as you are to be known; to be remembered; to be loved.
and this fear has consumed you more than a flame ever could. and you’re tired. you’ve exhausted yourself. you have burned out your own heart before anyone else could.
but it’s not too late. maybe it’s time to decide that you can let yourself be in the light of others. let them help you keep afire in the coldest of times. and let yourself be sought out for—especially in the dark.
because there is nothing to fear. and it’s never too late. i promise.
you will feel lit from within again.
P.S. This is a work in progress because we are just starting the year of the dragon. Hopefully, by the end of this year, I’ll have two more short stories(?) to add.
Wishing you a year full of love, happiness, and success—and wishing you the strength to accept it all with an open heart,
Leah K. Tran