When I was young, I lived with my grandparents in the province. My parents used to send me different toys to make up for being apart. Unfortunately, I only played with them once. My grandmother, having spent her life in the rural area regarded them as treasures. She put them up in a display case for me and my cousins to look at. We are not allowed to touch them because they would get dirty or worse, get broken.
At that time, I never really minded. There were a lot of twigs and dry leaves to break and tear, big trees to climb and swing on, and insects to hunt and collect. I did not realize how my grandmother’s displays affected me until lately.
My sister gave me this pen just a few days ago. I thought it was nice so I kept it to be used for later. My other sister pointed out that if I don’t use it, the ink will dry up and it will just be useless.
Then I recalled the countless cute notebooks I bought and kept. Telling myself that I would use them for more important stuff. They ended up being food for ants. The bag I bought and displayed to be used for the right moment ended up having molds.
I always wait for the right timing and in the end, the things I saved up for the “right time” ended up in waste.
So now I am wondering where did all my old toys go. The last time I visited my grandparents’ house was ten years ago and I haven’t seen them on the display case. Lolo and Lola have passed away and only cousins who are not that close to me are living there. Maybe they have thrown those toys away.
I just hope that they have been played with before they were tossed in the waste basket.