when i was young

i write a lot. even when my hands are busy, i think a great deal. like when i was busy with my publication, busy looking at building-block pictures online to add colour to my articles (again!) i thought of this:

"when i was youg i thought i could build the tallest of buildings with my multi-coloured wooden building blocks.

"i thought i could build towers as high as my ceiling, as high as the next house, as high as the church beside e well-loved bridge. (there aren't any churches at where i used to play building blocks at. this is just me running away with my mental pen) i thought i could build one so tall i could live in it, the only issue i coudl see as a child then was the lack of building blocks. i was sure i could build one that would compete with the clock tower in that little town back home! (there aren't clock towers, neither. but there was this tower taller than the rest of the buildings standing in the middle of a roundabout that the locals were and are so fond of. i don't understand why)

and i told whomever - often my mother - was nearby so. i also told my father, who was not there, so, as well.


and my mother would often respond with a "no, you can't," to which i'd stubbornly and angrily rail against. (nothing like that has happened, because i shrieked instead of railed. no reasoning involved, just blind rage)

and i determinedly did not believe her realistic but discouraging words. so i built my tower, over and over again, each time it toppled i would stubbornly rebuild it.

i built it and built it day after day. each time i ran out of blocks i would demolish my tower and start over and my towers would always be drastically different, even my mother wondered how i came up with this many variations. my mother did not say anything more about my towers not being able to reach the sky, but she simply watched, as mothers do.

and i built, frustrated by the irony of not having enough blocks, not having something to preserve their structure and shape and HATING the idea that they may be forever confined to a particular idea of what building blocks AREN'T.

and thus, i built on, each day for many days, when i was young. and every day i demolished them, to start over the next moment.

i was obsessed with the blocks.

and my mother said nothing. and my father, who was not there, said nothing as well.


and i built on.