If you can prevent yourself from bursting in to a loud laugh, and control the urge to make fun of me so badly, I have something to confess here, and that’s nothing but my uncontrollable love for fluffy and lovable soft toys, especially those medium and huge sized ones that are so cute and huggable, and never fail to induce a huge amount of positivity an pleasantness in to the person who owns one of them, or even watch them sitting next to one another on the glass shelves of those beautiful toy shops.
Although I have more than one stuffed toys, I sleep with a softy and plush teddy bear that I’ve not named yet, not because I don’t have any, but to enjoy the freedom to call him all those cute names that I know. He is my best friend, and by far the only one worthy of sleeping beside me, curling softly to my belly. If you see me speaking him while I am in my room, or when am back from the office, asking him how they are feeling and how his day went, you wouldn’t take even a second to call me downright crazy, but can never succeed in taking away my liking for stuffed toys. Sadly my friends and the rest of the world can hardly understand this, or are rather very much prejudiced about this love of mine, the reason why most of them call me child-like and silly. So I’ve never dragged him out of my hostel room, and always want him to comfortably remain in the privacy of my bed. He has seen me crying myself to sleep, waking up happily, shouting and howling crazily, staying up all night reading or chatting with people, and doing all sorts of nutty stuffs that no one else in my life would have even imagined in their wildest dreams.
I know I am well past the age where I could have had a huge number of soft toys around me, to play with them, to hug tightly while I sleep, to kiss them on their soft and tender cheeks, to talk to them when I am all alone, to tell them stories that I have heard, or to give them those adorable names like Pinku and Tinku. Still those lovely looking teddy bears, Winnie The Poohs, and large Penguins that sit hand in hand on the shelves of the toy stores always keep draw me towards them as I pass-by, extending their tender little hand through the glass window, welcoming me to befriend with them. I turn behind and smile at them helplessly, saying I am past that phase of life when I would have run towards them and grabbed them the very next moment. If I forcefully turn my eyes away from looking at them, I feel as if I keep hearing their sobs asking why I unkindly avoided them and walked away.
There is a really big toy shop just a few meters away from our bus stop, with glass panes on the first and second floor, where soft toys are kept neatly arranged one after the other, like sweetie little babies sitting next to one another, and smiling adorably at the passersby.
Soft, cuddly, and every smiling, softy toys make me happy like no one else can. I love being in their company, as they are always there for me whenever I need them, hugging me tightly, taking away all my sorrows and anxiety, and in return giving me immense happiness that no one else can offer. And above all, they never let me down or harshly judge me like the rest of the cold and cruel world. But given that I am in my thirties, as I said, my fondness for soft toys has always been a reason for constant laugh and ridicule, as people around call me crazy for loving the company of soft toys. However, I continue to keep giving deaf ears to all those who call me childish, as I have more than one good reasons to love my soft toys. Being alone in my room most of the times, they are the ones who keep me happy forever, the reason why I keep calling them the most wonderful friends on earth. More than the beauty of their softy faces and adorable little eyes, they are the absolutely trustworthy confidants and the ever-ready-to-listen friends that I have every had so far in this busy and fast paced world where no one, not even some of my best friends, can take out ample time for me.