Toy Story

When I was a kid, my mom always bought me toys as a reward when my quizzes get a good mark. It was my motivation to excel in class. Eventually, I had a collection of toys. 

I was possessive with them. I knew what kind of toy I have and would spot if one is missing. And every toy had a name. My stuffed toys were Bright Eyes, Squirmy, Nemo, Nathaniel & Vanessa. I already forgot the others. Even the Hello Kitty friends had their own names too. I also had blocks, doll house, train toys and etc.

With all these toys, I made a community. I pretended that all of them are just neighbors. I was always alone at home and my toys kept me company. I imagined that I belonged to a crowded but happy neigborhood. Perhaps, that was my way of escaping the sad reality that I am locked up alone in a big mansion.

There were also times when I thought that toys had emotions. If I kiss one stuffed toy, I had to kiss everyone so they won’t feel jealous. Or when a toy was misplaced, I had to return it to its place so it won’t feel sad.

Yes, my toys were my friends.

But then, I won’t stay as a kid forever. I grew up. Puberty hit me and everything else changed. 

When I became a teenager, I gave my toys to my cousins. Surely, they had fun with it. 

I didn’t feel sad letting go of my friends because I knew that they will be keeping company with somebody who was as sad as I was. Now it’s time for me to share them with other kids.


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