Polly Pockets

Way too many years ago, when I ws still a child under 10, and in elementary school, a new toy came to the market. Some of my classmates had it, and I also received one from my parents. The toy was a Polly Pocket, a tiny heart shaped box, which upon opening revealed a garden, two puppies and a doll. Already as a child, the polly pocket fit in my hand, and it became one of my favourite toys (and one of the few girlie toys I owned).

I started a collection of Polly Pockets, and, although I never named any of the dolls or animals, I could tell which doll belonged to which pocket, and imagined adventures, stories and trips for them. They lived in a beautiful city, and everybody had friends, and a life.

At some point I outgrew my Polly Pockets, but never disposed them, and kept them safe in a box for over a decade, well wrapped in (old) newspapers, and sealed to protect them from the sunlight and all damages that come with time.

Less than a year ago, as a grown up living independently, I opened the box, and, after unwrapping all of my Polly Pockets, and allocating the dolls in their respective pockets, I packed them with my clothes and brought them back to Germany. I wonder, why I felt the need of bringing them with me to Germany: I have not played with Polly Pockets in some 14 years, nor do I ave any kids who would enjoy them. However, these pockets reveal the stories I created as a child, and the hobbies and dreams from my childhood: a home with pets, a beautiful tiny car, horses (my passion and biggest dream as a child), water slides and swimming pools (my favourite vacation back then), a toy store (still an amazing place to hang out on a lazy Saturday!), a wedding ceremony (someday...), flowers, rings and necklaces, a zoo with a monkey and an elephant, an amusement park (yeah, not over those either), a caravan to travel arond, and some others.

Many of those are related to my hobbies, and to my dreams, and some few ones are related to things I trully enjoy, but am ashamed of recognizing it, and simply and openly state I hate it (waterslides and swimming pools). These thoughts bring me the words of my uni psych professor, Professor West, back: "When you grow up, and you look in the mirror, you will only see and older version of yourself". I, internally, haven't changed much since I was a child, I might know more things, and have more experience in life, I am more shy than I used to be, and I let the people around me, and the society, determine whether it is ok for me to keep my hobbies and passions or not, but deep inside, my dreams, passions and hobbies, are the same ones I had many years ago, as a child under 10, growing up in a violent country in South America. I am an older version of that child.