Remember Not to Forget

There was something about this time of year that always seemed to stir nostalgia out of Stori. For nearly all her life, the Flower Festival had been spent in a state of near nomad-hood, never quite sticking to one location or another to form more than surface level bonds. Now she had a home, and a wonderful group of friends (even if they still suffered from their own wanderlust). For the first time she felt confident to look to the future, and, in turn, the past. 

“Do you know why we light the lanterns, children?” Asked Stori as she carefully tucked in the delicate folds of paper around her ‘example’ piece. Before her, spread in various states of paying attention and goofing off, her gathered class chirped in a mixture of answers and excitement. She simply smiled as she set down one, lifting another that lingered near her feet in a state of half completion. Of the answers offered, she heard:

“Because they’re pretty!”

“So we can have a festival with lots of food.”

“For together-ness.”

“Cause the flowers are falling”

Along with several complaints that they were hungry.

She smiled lightly as she clearly demonstrated the steps of folding and tucking the delicate paper so that the young in front of her could follow. They were all ears and paws, so their square lanterns were far less delicate than the orbs Stori made… but they still required the same skill set! 

“Well all those are very good answers, and they are what we do now for the festival. However, the Flower Festival is a time for us all to come together and remember.”

“Remember what, Ms. Stori?” 

“Well, remember life. We honor those that came before us who were able to end the Elder War, and remember the traditions of them. We light the lanterns to let them know we think of them, and we gather together so we can remember to be thankful for the peace their sacrifice has brought us.” It was big words, a heavy topic for ones so young… but she knew it was something they would understand, one day. To them, the war was a fictional thing that happened long ago. War was something they played on the playground, not devastation. Many had never experienced loss, and remembering wasn’t on their minds.

But those that had, the ones that broke Stori’s heart, would understand the meaning of the day. And, as they grew, she knew the Festival would begin to develop its own meaning for each and every one of them. They would create what their “remembering” meant, and in turn would pass it down to their children and grandchildren in the way that Stori now did. They, in turn, would remember her message, and her words for them, on this day:

“Remember, children. Remember not to forget.”