Childhood games


I was a strange kid. I didn’t use to go out and play with others very much. Actually, for most of my childhood years, I never went out. No brothers, no sisters, it was just me and my games. And toys.

In a way, I was happy. I didn’t need the company of others. I just made stuff up. I had a lot of toys, and I kept imagining different worlds. I actually have written stories and novellas based on these games I used to play.

So, in a strange way, I was a writer even before I learned how to write. Or maybe I was just a storyteller without an audience. I named my parents’ apartment Seattle, and I didn’t even know how to properly pronounce it;  the living room was downtown, and the washing machine was supposed to be a power plant.

One day, when I was six years old, maybe even younger, I stumbled upon a brochure from a supermarket, I think. And on the back it had the logos of all the companies its products it sold. Quite a lot. And I wondered… how would it feel to own all of them?

That’s when I came up with the crazy idea that I wanted to become the richest man in the world. Not for the money, but for what it meant to build such a great thing.

So, yeah, I was born a dreamer. I’ve always lived in this bizarre world where everything was possible, and you could get everything you wanted just by wanting it bad enough. By trying hard enough. By dreaming it into existence. A world that was big enough for all of us to get what we want most, a world where the life we thought we deserved could, actually, exist.

During the summer my parents worked at a hotel, and so I lived with my grandparents. My grandfather is the closest thing to an idol I have. Mostly because he told me stories from his past, stories wrapped up in a certain bitter melancholy. Things that used to be and no longer were. That sort of stuff. There was this park close to where my grandparents lived, and we used to go there every day. Sometimes twice a day, once in the morning, and once shortly before sunset.

Memories are strange. As time passes, we sort of mix them together. They tend to form a singular image. Like a frame from a movie. Then they become just a sensation. To me, my childhood makes me feel as though life was easy and simple. I was so eager to grow up and find answers to all the questions that I couldn’t answer.

Maybe this is what it really means to be a child: we assume that we can find answers to all of life’s riddles.

Simply put, nothing is impossible.

And so we’re eager to grow up, to assume the world. To find our place. To become what we want to become. And somewhere during this process, as we grow up, life starts taking away this innocent ambition of ours. We find out that some questions can’t be answered, that some questions have more than one answer, that some questions have no right or wrong answers.

We experience tragedy and we think that life’s all black and white. The good and the bad. And then we’re not so sure anymore. Life’s all kinds of different shades of grey. Good people will do bad things with the best intentions. Some people will do good without meaning to. And life becomes infinitely more complicated because of that.

That’s one of the reasons I write. It gives me freedom, just like it used to when I was a kid. I’m not playing with toys anymore, I just have to use my brain. I make stuff up, because the world outside my window is not as beautiful as the one I can imagine.

Maybe this is a weakness, maybe this is just a way of escaping something, not fighting against it.

But, frankly, it doesn’t matter, because no one can tell me what’s really important or what’s not. It doesn’t matter if someone cares as long as I care.


First of all, I’d like to thank Kenneth, Robert, Rita, and all the others who have donated so far.

If you’d like to help me out with my next dentist’s appointment, you can donate any amount you see fit via PayPal here.

Also, you can purchase reblogs here. Advertising here. And signed paperbacks here.

Any help matters. Any help brings me closer to having a normal life and enjoying once again those simple pleasures of life.


  1. We all need to imagine a world outside of our windows that is better than the world actually present. What drives me batty is that we are capable of such wondrous things to create that world yet, we kowtow and settle for far below even sub-par, myself included. We are guilty of creating and condoning a crap world and so I have decided to focus extra hard on that better imagined possible world because it IS possible, even if it is currently against the odds. I know I am going to fail a lot but, it is my life mission to help make the world I, and so many others, can imagine into a reality, as much as I am able.
    I don’t believe it to be a weakness at all. In fact, I find it to be quite the contrary. I believe it takes great strength to focus on and create a better world. Since the crap world now was imagined then, so can a world opposite of that. We are observers that can create. We are amazing beings capable of both frightening and inspiring enlightening things. Each and every one of us. We have to ask ourselves what are we going to do with all that power? I say freedom write away!! Your writings could even be used to pull guidelines/ideas/inspiration/etc from for a better world one day. When it comes down to it, you just never will know for sure, so it seems to me the logical positive thing to do is to the push for the positive.
    The more gray things in life I was exposed to, the more I found anything to be possible. The more torment I endured, the more I knew what good was not and the more I was alone and contemplated stuff like this as a child, the more I realized that there could be another world. Yes I wanted to escape but, the mere fact that I wanted to escapes says that what we created needs to be recreated. A terrible world is not finite. We created it, therefore, we are capable of altering it. We just have to figure out how and not give up.There is nothing childish about imagining a better world and believing anything is possible. It is perhaps the greatest tragedy that we lose the ambition to imagine a better world and lose faith in the infinite possibilities.
    I really enjoyed your post and found it both relatable and inspiring.


  2. I can relate to what you are writing, I can remember using the old typewriter from my grandfather when we came over to write little newspapers for him. He always read them out loud wich made me feel so proud :)
    Nowadays I wonder if there are still kids out there with such a big imigination or if they are all “brainwashed” by the use of ipads, apps etc. …


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