Touching the past

I have a slight obsession with stuffed animals.

I spent hours looking them up on the internet and I found myself "aw"ing at every one of them. And sighing.

I have the habit of naming all my stuffed animals, and I can't sleep without at least one of them.

It's the softness of their coat, and the way they remind me of my mother's smile.

Maybe it's because I feel lonely sometimes, and I don't want to tell anyone.

I remember in 1991, my mother had gone to the donut shop where she worked from 4 am, and my father had gone to do janitorial work at Hilton hotel, I heard my little brother crying, not knowing what was going on. He was only 1 and I was 6, but I sensed a overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

And that's when I grabbed my bright orange and green turtle, and began telling it all my worries. His name was Jefferey and he was the only one, or thing, that was with me all the time. Later, when I turned 11, my mother put him in the washing machine and he exploded. I cried for several hours until my mother gathered the fluffy polyester cotton from the washing machine and sewed him back together. He was never the same after that. A bit limp. But I still dragged him around with me everywhere.

And there there was my next bear, Muffy, who had a constant frown on his face. My aunt had seen how much I liked Jefferey, so she gave it to me on my 10th birthday. I would sit with the yellow bear in my lap, wondering why he always looked so sad, and conjectured ways to change his frown into a smile. I dreamed once that he came alive in my sleep, but it wasn't a pleasant dream. He asked me why I always tried to make him happy. He enjoyed frowning, because that was his way of expressing himself. 

I had several others dolls after that. It would be senseless to name all of them. But with each one, I instilled a distinct personality, something that I could imagine, create, and nurture. 

I still do this sometimes. And people find it strange. Almost baffling. A 24 year old girl who still squeals and reaches out her arms in delight when she sees fluffly stuffed animals on the streets, in the stores, and in other people's homes. But it's what connects me to my imagination and my comfort, as well as the soft memories of my sad yet strenghtening past. I surprise myself still, when my hand touches the plush softness of a stuffed animal while mindlessly passing it in the store for it almost instantly puts me at ease, and I remember, and smile at how far I've come and how much there is to come.