One perfect afternoon, on the second floor of a military apartment, I sat in my room surrounded by toys. The sun was blazing through the window and spreading its friendly warmth on my face. The smell of fresh carpet that my mother so vigorously attended too was the perfect aroma for the concert that was about to start. The site of seeing a mess of thirty to forty figures on the floor in an unorganized manor to some create havoc, but to me nothing, was more pleasant for eye to behold. For when others saw chaos, disorder, or repulsiveness, I saw a work of art about to unfold. Normally this would have been one of the happiest moments in my life as I liked being alone without any threat of a person interrupting the horrific battle that my figures had so bravely endured. All my life all I ever wanted to was to just be allowed to play in solitude with nothing but my imagination, and the instruments that gave that fantasy a splash of reality. I had done this numerous times, but that one afternoon, I felt that something was missing. Instead of feeling joy at the end of story, I felt empty, cold, and depressed. It was like a wave darkness …show more content…
Things such as playing hide and seek, building with blocks, or climbing on monkey bars just seem to evaporate overnight. I was the exception. For I did not want to grow up. Distractions such as jobs, cars, and worst of all girls, just seemed dull and unentertaining. No matter how hard I tried though, I could not stop myself from growing older either. Things like school, lawn mowing, babysitting, BSA, and dish washing seemed to become more of a priority and took time away from my performances. Though these inconveniences never seemed to go away, I never gave in completely. Everyday I would sneak at least a short performance just so that I would forget how to conduct an award-winning production (at least I thought they