No one quite grasped how monumental these celebrations were. For Kwannon, anyways. The narrower the world had become; in terms of connection and information, the broader acceptance and living in wholeness had become. Just within his own cultural difference, they weren't allowed to display such intricate and intimate moments. Then again, he was raised to be a blade and refined like Damascus. Pressurized and resilient like diamond. "I'm sorry," he pauses. The faux glasses pushed upon the bridge of his nose. Mouth certainly ready to collect the sweetened confection of American cotton candy. He anticipated the over-saturation of sugar and wanted nothing more in the moment. His tongue hefts as he freezes where he stood. "I don't think you all understand how pivotal this parade is. I encourage you to celebrate and ...," Eyes shift down to the myriad of spun strands, immediately breaking himself from the impulse to count each one. "...Me to enjoy my sugar rush."