Fire, Cold Streets, and Christmas Songs

 This personal reflection feels especially relevant today, as wars and conflicts continue to displace families around the world.

Christmas memories 

are often described as a season of warmth and joy. Mine began in the cold.

In the late 1953, a fire burned down a two-storey building in Kowloon 石硤尾大火. By nightfall, my family and I were standing in the street—homeless, hungry, and unsure what would come next. It was Christmas Eve. And it was the night I learned what the spirit of Christmas truly means.

 

                               A fire broke out and burned down houses

Childhood stories

It was 1953. A fire broke out and burned down a two-storey building. I still remember the flames climbing through the night, fast and merciless. By morning, we had lost our home. We stood in the street with nothing—cold, hungry, and unsure where the next hour would take us. The wind cut through our thin clothes. Fear sat quietly in the chest.

It was Christmas Eve

As strange as it sounds, there were voices in the streets that night. People were singing Christmas Chorus along the street. Not loudly. Not for show. Just steady, human voices moving through the cold. At the time, I did not fully understand what I was witnessing. I only knew that we were not completely alone.

Faith and kindness, people began to reach out. 

Strangers offered us shelter. Someone brought food and hot drinks. Others found warm clothes for us to wear. There were no speeches, no sermons—only action. Help arrived not because we deserved it, but because love chose to show up.

Now, after more than half a century, 

I understand what that night truly meant.

The spirit of Christmas is not found in decorations or celebrations alone. It is found in sharing joy, in caring for those who have nothing, and in remembering the birth of Jesus—the Savior who came not in comfort, but in humility. Love and help are not side ideas in Christianity; they are the core. Without them, faith becomes noise.

The world today

When I look at the world today, my heart feels heavy. Wars continue. Conflicts tear families apart. Children sleep in fear, much like we once did, though in places far more dangerous. Too often, compassion stops at borders, and suffering becomes just another headline.

But I also remember that Christmas Eve in Kowloon. I remember how ordinary people made an extraordinary difference. That memory reminds me that the world does not change through grand gestures alone, but through countless small acts of kindness—offered quietly, without expectation.

Peace and compassion

Christmas, at its best, calls us to do exactly that.

As I grow older, I no longer ask what Christmas gives to me. I ask what it asks of me. Perhaps that is the lesson time teaches most clearly: that love must be lived, not discussed.

Human resilience

May we share what we have.

May we help where we can.
And may the spirit of Christmas—born in a manger, proven on the streets—find room in our hearts, especially in a world that needs it more than ever.