Dreamer: a Toy Adventure

           Which will you choose: fantasy or reality? Though fantasy is definitely sweeter, we are often slapped into reality by the puzzles life throws at us. But as a little child, everyone surely lived a rather dreamy life. At least in my youth, I did. Somewhere in the world, dragons still existed, soaring high above the seas, breathing fire. Demigods would take an adventure under the blessing of Zeus and Poseidon. And at every Christmas, Santa Claus would send elves disguised as humans to monitor kids and make the naughty list (gods, I was so afraid of being on the list). However, I was an odd boy, much more than my fellow daydreamers. I could see the galloping knights, hear the explosions of the battlefield, and even talk to heroes of dreamland. They were literally next to me every second. Now you would probably be wondering if I am having regular meetings with the psychiatrist. But believe it or not, it’s real. I met the heroes in an artificial world: a world made of toys.

           On the age of four, I got the first Power Ranger figure for my birthday present (I was CRAZY about Power Rangers at that time, seriously). For at least a year, I enjoyed replicating the TV shows with all the bams and booms blabbering out of my mouth. A play just right for a kindergartener. But soon, the heroes in rainbows got outdated. While most of the little men retired to attics, my rangers started adapting. They were no longer just toys for children. They became a bridge, bringing my imagination to life.

           Novels, movies, and dramas were reconstructed in my bedroom. Power Rangers weren’t just Power Rangers anymore – they came alive as characters from diverse origins. My favorite, the red hero, became the protagonist of numerous stories, all made up or extended by me. One day he was the son of Harry Potter, fighting the imaginary villain that is even eviler than Voldemort. The next day he was a new member of the Avengers and led the fight with Thanos. The next day he was a genius hacker, creating a program controlling all the computers on Earth. Yeah, you get the idea.

           During my childhood, and even now at the edge of teenage, I still dream. With the toys, I float into the optimistic future whenever I am uncertain or unconfident, and dive into fantasia for leisure and relaxation. Unlike most of my peers who woke up more than ten years ago, I am still dreaming. Childish, yes. Naïve, of course. To most, even to me, I seem like a daydreaming four years old (except that I am at least five times as heavier).

           Every time I am dreaming of a new scenario for my toys, the figures seem closer to me: at first like a family, and now more like myself. Reflected off the 3-inch tall figure, I see a reflection of a passionate, but confused teenager. "Maybe I ‘ve gone too far. Maybe all the imagination has no meaning. Maybe I just have to grow up." Some tell me it’s time to wake up. But you know what? I will never stop dreaming (and playing with figures). I will always be foolish enough to dream of the impossible, and challenge for anything I desire. No matter what, this is me.

           Reality is often easier to choose; not many people hold on to their childhood beliefs and joy. For most people, algebra and calculus fill their world in their late teens. But to me, dragons fill the sky, war cries of demigods ring in my ear, and Santa still sends presents on Christmas eve. And my toys, now old and rusted, still sends me on hour-trips to my imagination. Now, where should I go today?