Living Like I’m Dying by Lary Kennedy captures fireworks over Kuala Lumpur. A humorous travel reflection on celebration, belonging, and life abroad. Keywords: fireworks, Living Like I’m Dying, Lary Kennedy, Kuala Lumpur blog, Bangsar Malaysia, travel humorist, celebration abroad.
Halloween was never my favorite holiday… until I got a yard.
What started off with a few cheap paper tombstones twelve years ago expanded into a full-on Haunted Yard Extravaganza. Every year I added to the spook show, carefully placing my horrifying troupe properly for optimal scare factor.
By last October 31st, I’d amassed quite the collection: twenty or so tombstones, a skeleton army, six hanging ghosts, and assorted automated creatures. A black cat with glowing green eyes lit up when anyone passed by—turning her head to follow you before letting out an obnoxious growl that built to an ear-piercing scream.
A white skeletal face, draped in a long black flowing cloth, hung from a tree limb near my back porch. Every time the wind blew (much to my neighbors’ chagrin), its red beady eyes flared and it cackled, “Beware the creatures of the night!” then laughed maniacally.
A rusty birdcage held a large crow perched above scattered bones. At the slightest touch his bloody eyes flashed, his head turned, and he screeched, “CAW! CAW! Don’t be afraid—people say I’m craaaaaaazzzy!”
I’ve never found screaming I’m crazy! an effective strategy for drawing anyone closer, but apparently, he’d had some success.
My forever favorite was an eight-inch skeleton with wisps of gray hair stuck to the sides of his skull, dressed in a ragged white shirt and tattered black pants. His hands were bound in handcuffs as he hung from a top branch in my front yard. He’d shake and shriek, “It’s the first hundred years that kills ya!” or “I wouldn’t stay here if I were you—people are dying to get in!”
The one that cracked me up every single time wailed, “Water… I need water… and maybe a ham sandwich!”
In eleven years of my Halloween tradition, maybe ten trick-or-treaters actually rang my doorbell. Didn’t matter. I kept adding to the collection yearly. Storing them took up half my shed, but I came to love all those ghouls and goblins. Inanimate though they were, it didn’t stop the tears when it came time to part with them.
Walking around Kuala Lumpur (population 2 million and change)—well, walking around Bangsar, really—there is nary a scary yard to be found. Not a Wicked witch, K-pop vampire, or sexy nun costume in the shops, supermarkets, or pasar malam (night markets) of KL.
By now, in the States, Halloween shelves would already have morphed into full-on Merry Christmas mode. Wait until the last minute to buy M&Ms, Reese’s, or Warheads Sour Mix, and you’ll be left with one lonely bag of red-and-white peppermints.
Hand out peppermints and your house becomes the neighborhood ghost story—kids huddled at the curb whispering, “That’s the mint house.” It can take years to get your rep back.
American culture is embedded in my soul—forever a part of me. Whether old traditions or newly formed rituals, they’re the rhythm I’ve known since the beginning of my time.
Someday my body will find the place to settle. Somewhere perhaps other Americans will gather for ceremonial observances like Halloween, the Super Bowl, Christmas, and, of course, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Reunion. You can take the girl out of America…
What’s the point of leaving all I’ve ever known just to chase the familiar somewhere else? That’s the part I’ll have to grapple with. Halloween, not so much—but Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s? Appreciating new cultures doesn’t mean I have to forgo the comfort of my own.
I knew I’d be spending these holidays alone—but you never know how that will feel until it happens.
On October 31st, I think I’ll sit down with a big bag of M&Ms, wrap a white sheet around my body, clutch a large butcher knife, and watch Friday the 13th on my iPad.
Like I need to gain any more weight.
Halloween may not be cause for celebration in Kuala Lumpur, but they sure do love fireworks. They’re clearly visible from my high-rise apartment—my “sky perch.” Yeah, we’re moving on up to the east side; finally got a piece of the pie.
It’s crazy having this view. From my floor-to-ceiling glass wall I can see all of Kuala Lumpur—day or night—and it never gets old. I’m in Bangsar, an upscale pocket of the city, thirty floors up in a 24-hour-security building with a rooftop pool and gym, marble floors, modern amenities, and, miracle of miracles, a real shower with hot water—all for under USD 300 a week. That never gets old either.
About those fireworks: back in the U.S., gunfire often masquerades as fireworks. Here, it’s the opposite—celebration, not chaos. When the explosions echo through the night, instinct still makes me step away from the window.
But Chat assures me that gun violence is an extreme rarity in Malaysia—and, honestly, in most of Asia.
The sky suddenly lights up with fireworks. I don’t know what they’re celebrating—something brighter, something older—but that’s another story.
I missed most of it, honestly. Didn’t understand the meaning, didn’t try to. Sometimes it’s enough just to stand at the window and watch a celebration that isn’t yours, lighting up the sky anyway.
