When I was a kid, I wasn’t exactly a rule-follower. I was more of a curious explorer—the kind who dabbled in homemade explosives.
It all started one evening while I was watching the news. A story came on about Thai farmers using explosive compounds to force longan trees to bear fruit early. Vietnam, they said, planned to import the formula. A wild idea sparked in my mind: “Maybe I can use that to make a rocket.”
A few months later, my parents brought home several kilos of the chemical for their farm. When they weren’t around, I carefully took a small amount, placed it on the ground, and lit it with a bamboo stick from a distance.
It fizzled. No fireworks. Just a slow burn.
I told my friends. One suggested mixing it with charcoal powder. After school, I tried his idea. That mixture burned faster and threw off sparks. Still no bang—but it was progress.
Then another friend came in with a new idea: add a green powder he’d found at a Chinese medicine shop. He said it was powerful. I gave it a try, and boom. A real explosion. That’s when I realized things had become dangerous.
But I didn’t stop.
I made a fuse by soaking a rope in oil, then built rocket prototypes from cardboard and duct tape. One end sealed, the other open. When ignited, the rocket flew—unsteady, only a few meters—but it worked. After a quick redesign, it flew longer. I was hooked.
Then it happened. While mixing a new batch of fuel, it exploded. For a moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it. My hair smelled burnt, and my eyebrows were gone. That was enough. I ended my rocket experiments. They had gone out with a bang.
Reflecting on all the naughty things I did when I was a child, I believe that children need God to protect them from their own ignorance and curiosity, basically keep them alive. The fact that you and I survived our childhood is a miracle.