Offshore Observations Part 2 - Vellfireworks
When you think of fireworks, you picture the orchestrated displays of places like Disneyland—contained, intentional, and designed to bring people together.
Living just above the equator, I’ve come to expect the eruption of fireworks that marks every Chinese New Year. With it comes relentless firecrackers, spontaneous bangs, and a brand of festive chaos that takes over residential neighborhoods for weeks. For some, it’s a time of joy, family, and tradition. To me, it’s an annual assault that obliterates any peace necessary for creative thought.
In this context, fireworks aren’t just celebratory displays—they're an expression that often disregards the surrounding community. The constant noise turns days into a monotonous blur, where even hitting your head against the wall would feel like a more stimulating experience. This is where my American-made Mack's Snoozers Silicone Putty Ear Plugs provide the only way to cling to my sanity.
Next in the festive arsenal of Chinese New Year is the Vellfire, Toyota's vanity van, designed to shuttle families to and from firework destinations while keeping them hidden inside. Alongside its sibling, the Toyota Alphard, the Vellfire is a staple for large families, with their blacked-out windows and gaudy grilles. Fleets of them charge down the streets, looking like the monoliths in Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Like a cross between a dust ruffle and a sleek, high-tech Korean refrigerator, these vehicles come only in black or white. Always driven obnoxiously, they project a fortress-like mentality: This is my family, my domain, and the outside world doesn’t exist.
As the weeks of fireworks drag on, Chinese New Year can start to feel less like a communal event and more like an exercise in passive aggression amplified by wealth. The unrelenting explosions until 2 a.m. begin to feel more like a group marking their territory—an auditory flex of We’re here, and we’re loud.
When you think of fireworks, you picture the orchestrated displays of places like Disneyland—contained, intentional, and designed to bring people together. What I struggle to understand about Chinese New Year is the heavy-handed chaos it brings to residential areas. It’s noise for the sake of noise, a disruption that erodes communities rather than nurturing them.
Another layer to this is the school holidays, which conveniently coincide with Chinese New Year. With children off school for three weeks and little to occupy their minds, they—like the adults—turn to blasting firecrackers. It’s no surprise that during this season, the news is rife with reports of injuries—burnt hands, accidents, and other inevitable consequences of this careless merging of unsupervised play and dangerous fireworks.
Unfortunately, multiculturalism also fosters a kind of pride within the various cultures coexisting in the same country. This often leads to an island-within-an-island mentality, where cultural groups implicitly compete with one another.
The Vellfire and the unregulated fireworks feel like two sides of the same coin—both symbols of rapid technological and economic development, while social ethics are left in the dust. It’s a pattern I’ve observed in many fast-developing nations, where progress surges ahead, leaving behind any sense of collective responsibility.
It’s a dynamic that feels disconnected from the principles of true celebration and cultural preservation. Celebration should bring people together, not alienate those outside the immediate circle. Yet, the noise creates a border wall, making it hard for an outsider—or even a neighbor—to comprehend the joy.
And if that weren’t enough, the aftermath leaves streets strewn with debris. Despite annual reminders from management to clean up, firework remnants remain everywhere, posing a hazard to local wildlife. It’s ironic to see houses with Teslas and BYDs in the driveway while their rubbish piles up outside like forgotten confetti. At times, it feels like living among adult children who simply refuse to clean up their mess—a stark contrast to cultures like Japan, where people routinely take their own rubbish home.
For me, the beauty of observing different cultures isn’t in extravagant displays of resources; it’s in seeing people show consideration for one another in the shared spaces we inhabit. There’s much to admire about the focus on family, but a little reflection could make these celebrations more empathetic toward others—especially those left sleep-deprived by two weeks of constant disruption.
The Vellfire may continue to dominate the roads, and the fireworks may continue to punctuate the nights. But with a little more thoughtfulness, these festivities could become something rooted in connection rather than separation built on noise.