My Childhood Part 2

So people, after much delay, I will now write the sequel to My Childhood Part 1. For this post,you better put on you fire suits and get ready to call the firemen. You might need them sooner than you think. But before you read this one, read the first part.

Did I mention to any of you that I loved creating 'art' out of fire? Well, in case you didn't know, I love fire and I love to make then. Anywhere, anytime. In my house, we have an altar. And in the altar there are many flammable items as well as matchsticks. And my mother always told me never to play with fire It might burn you. So what I would do is, I would go into the altar, close the door and stare at the altar. After a few minutes, I would reach into the drawer and grab some paper. After that I would crumple all those sheets of paper into a big ball of paper, then put it into one of those small metal boxes. I would do next is to light the match, and then turn the papers into a huge fireball. Like all things, fire too grows. When it is small, its hardly scary. But when the fire becomes big, that's when all of hell will break loose. When it became big, I would start running around like a headless chicken trying to look for water. Fortunately for me, there is a Toilet beside my altar. I would run in, grab a small cup of water and pour it over the fire. But to my horror, the fire did not die out. I quickly ran into the the toilet again and grabbed some more water. The fire would only die out after a few attempts. But that was long enough to allow the fire to cause the altar's yellow paint to turn black and to burn off a little bit of its wood. Wonder how mom would respond to that? I got scared. I really did not know what to do. I tried wiping it off with a dry cloth, but that did not work. I tried to think a a million different excuses to tell my mom. I even tried to tell her that the maid did it. And in case you were wondering, this is how she responded to it. As usual, my mom would return home after work. The first thing that she would normally do is to go to the kitchen and eat, re freshen herself, then go to her favorite place. The Altar! She was in for a rude shock.
'Pina, (my maid's name) Why is the altar so black?' 'I don't know.' That's when I would walk in with my sad face trying to explain how the entire thing wasn't my fault. I would say that I was trying to clean the altar and I accidentally burned the place. Of course, like all adults, she did not buy it. She gave me a good spanking afterward.

Of course, that was not the last time I ever played with fire. Another time I did, I nearly burnt the whole house down. This was what happened. I emptied one of the wastepaper baskets in my home and brought it to my study room. I then locked the door. I then started to put my old books into the wastepaper basket. Next, I poured some oil into it. I grabbed a matchstick and started to burn the papers. And all of those happened right next to the wall. Which had a photo beside it. As it started to burn, I heard footsteps coming from the staircase. And before I knew it, my maid was knocking on the room door. 'Hoi, Senthil! What are you doing? I want to put in the clothes. Faster open the door.' my maid started saying. I didn't reply. I stood there with my mouth shut. Staring at the growing fire. I started to panic. I did not know what to do. As I stood there watching, the wastepaperbasket started to melt. The wall started turning black. But yet, I just stood there and watched. Suddenly, 'Oi Senthil! Why got smoke? Are you playing with the fire? I tell you mother. Ai! Faster! The whole house burn I tell you!!' My maid started screaming. By then, black smoke was already rising from the wastepaper basket. I snapped out of my state of shock, ran to the toilet, grabbed a pail of water and poured it over the burning wastepaper basket. Due to the size of the fire, I had to pour water over it a few times before it died down. By then my maid was screaming in Filipino Language. Man, that was funny. Filipino language is funny indeed. Even a normal conversation among them sounds like they are fighting. Screaming was like war. Funnier that Russel Peter's accents. I can still remember it. When the fire died down, I opened the door to let her in. She started scolding me. I told her that I accidentally started the fire. And it wasn't my fault. The more I tried to tell her what 'happened' the more she did not believe me. She even spanked me. That night, when my parents returned home, my maid told them everything. And as usual, they gave me a good beating while lecturing me. But this did not deter me from my fiery ambition.

I did more burnings at my house. I remember my brother and I burnt the floor panels with my dad's soldering equioment once. He got pretty mad. I also managed to burn a few holes in the bedsheet with incence sticks. I did many more but I can't remember them. But that's all for now. I still have more stories. But once again, I'll leave that for another post.