Every Child is Happy in the Amusement Parks

On how cruel the parents can be, without themselves, knowing it, abandoning US, their own FLESH-and-BLOOD!  And yet, we still all, grew, UP…translated…

I still loved taking my children to the Children’s Amusement Park.

As my father was younger, he too, might have understood this also.

It was mildly cooler on that day, thinking back, I suppose that it was at the time when autumn is about to, head into, winter.  The reasons for it, unknown, to me then.  One day as I got up, my father and my mother discussed something in a quiet voice, then, he’d told me to come with him.

That was a day of school, as I recalled, so, why didn’t he bring my younger brother too?

I was staying quiet, and focused on staying quiet, uncurious, but, I was, secretly worrying, that my father was, taking me to sell me off to someone.

what the, amusement park ride looked like to this man when he was only a young boy…photo from online

The drive wasn’t a short one, I’d no longer recalled if I’d shared conversations with my father or not, and, even if I had, I’m sure, I’d only spoken, a few, words, back when my father was younger, he’d not known how to talk to his children.

And finally, we got off the freeway ramps, and it was surprising to me as he’d pulled into the parking lot, the colors of the rainbow came into sight, it was, the rambunctious, loud, Children’s Amusement Park.

Don’t know if anybody recalled the “Tien-Yuan Villa of Doliou”.

My father bought us the fares, and, stuffed a hundred or was it two hundred dollars in my hand (back then, that was, a whole lot of money), told me to go into the park to play, to get myself something to eat if I get hungry.

He’d told me, “before the park closes in the afternoon, I will come, and pick you up.”

And at that moment, I’d understood, that my father took me to get babysat at the Children’s Amusement Park on the day.

How grand was that, I tried hard, to hold back my grin, as my father looked, very serious then.

Shortly, my father sped off, and the old woman who was watching the gates close by, didn’t say a single word.

I’d entered into the park, recalled how I had a ton of, fun, gone on every single right, it was cool, the weather, but I’d, sweated a whole lot on the day.

When I suddenly felt hunger, it was past noon, I bought a corndog, had an orange soda, burped a few times, I felt more than, happy and, satisfied.

what childhood is like, for most of us…photo from online

I’d stuffed myself then, time for the Haunted House, I’d not dared entered since I got there in the early morn.

I saw a couple, who were, smiling very radiantly as I was standing in line, looked like they were, checking into a motel or something.

Thinking back, it was, quite, metaphorical, that a couple entered into a haunted mansion together.

They may get married in the future, and, maybe, they will become, someone’s parents, and, bumped into a ton of, scarier things than ghosts, and some of which will probably be too hard for them to handle, but, so long as they still shared the love, they will probably be able to, laugh, about it.

I’m scared of ghosts, and couldn’t even, open my eyes, and just, clung on to that older girl’s shirttail all the way, thankfully, she’d not found me a nuisance, she was like a mother, held me close, gently.

Don’t worry, it’s all, fake, she’d, told me.

Exiting the Haunted Mansion, I’d passed the couple by, don’t know why, I’d started, feeling, something weird.

I’d felt, very, alone, so suddenly.

Lost my sense of play then, just, sat on the benches, by the, trash can, watching the people go to and from, envied how they were laughing, and crying too.

As the evening came, I’d not noted that it had, until the song “Goodnight” by the singer came on, chasing the visitors, out.  As the skies grew dark, everybody was then, exiting, I’d started worrying then, worried over time, and, I’d, waited and waited, and waited, until, there was, absolutely, NOBODY else around, then, I’d, stumped, outside.

The elderly woman who was watching the gates, smiled and saw me off, still, without a single, word.

I’d turned around for one last look, the amusement park was then, taken over by darkness, without the sounds of joys, or the, color, and I’d felt, that the amusement park is also, lonely, that what she wanted, wasn’t to say goodbye to me, but for me, to go in again, to be with her.

Maybe, the Children’s Amusement Park WAS, the loneliest place on earth, so, that’s why, people always go there, together.

I’d waited for my father outside, tired, and cold too, the skies was completely, darkened, to the color of the blood, red, the car drove off one by one, the crowds, left, to the point, that I could, no longer, see my own, self anymore.

As my father’s headlights showed, the skies had, lost color completely then, even the elderly woman who kept the gates had gone home already.

Ahhhhhh!  Closed so soon!  He’d gotten out, and, blurted out this, lie.

I’d, believed him.

At the time, I still had two younger brother, and could understand it, the every parent had a different mode of making their, marriage work, but, they were all like, the Children’s Amusement Park, bitter, lonely, and in pain on the inside.

Until I became all grown up, with children of my own, I’d still prayed, that every child, when they were taken to the Children’s Amusement Parks, they are, happy.

And so, this, is how we all, grew up, being, abandoned by our parents, physically, and/or, psychologically/emotionally, because, our parents are all, ill-fitted, unequipped, to “handle” their own young, US, and that, is how children lose their, innocence, in their, younger years, without them ever, realizing that they had already been, “stolen”…

Romanticizing Your Abandonment…

In order, to help my self, survive without you in my life, this was, the ONLY way I have, of why you’d, left me, abandoned me, in my, younger, years…

Romanticizing your, abandonment, I’d, woven up this, tale about you as a young child, for not having you ‘round in my life: that you were, someone who worked for some, secret society, forced to flee, to escape, which was why I never got to see you,  growing, up.

and I kept longing, for you to come back and get me…and you, never, did…photo from online

Romanticizing your, abandonment, it was something I did, to keep my self, away, from the, painful truths, ‘cuz, which mother wouldn’t love their young?  (you never had!), but because I was way too young, and in need of you, and you were, never, ‘round, so I had to, try and make sense, of why everybody had a mommy, and I didn’t.

So I’d had these, schemata, of who you were, what your life was like, and why you couldn’t be ‘round me.  And I had, grown up, as safe and sound as I, possibly could, without you!

And yet, as now I’m adult, the truth finally came, and the reason for why you weren’t there, wasn’t, as romantic as I wanted it to be, and I’d become, ill-adapted, unable to, cope with, these truths that had now unfolded, before my, mind…………

The LAST Ride, Before, You Were, Gone…for, Good

The LAST ride, before, you were, gone…for, good, you took me on, and I was, a bit, scared, as the speed you were, riding me, was way too high, it’d felt like I was, flying, and it’d, scared me, but, I loved you, so, I’d, gone along…

The LAST ride, before you were, gone…for good, didn’t know, that that, was the very LAST time I’ll, ever, see you, alive, I was, way too, young, inexperienced of the world, until, until, you took me on that, LAST ride, before you were, gone…for good.  Then, all of a sudden, I’d become, an adult, with her childhood, left, behind!

That LAST ride, before you were, gone…for good, thought that you will always, watch over me, and I guess, that in a sense, you still are, watching, over me, just, not in this world that I’m currently, left, behind in is all.

what that, looked, like! Photo from online

So many things I’d wanted to say to you…well, there’s, nothing I can think of, to say to you, after all, you are, a stranger to me, through my early childhood days (and even IF you’d been present, I wouldn’t, remember it!), my adolescent, you’d, come in and out, made the, occasional, visit, here, and there, then, my adulthood, we’d, reconnected, sorta, but, you’re still, a stranger to me, the more I’d, found out about you, and now, you’re, gone, for good!

I keep on, replaying that LAST ride, before you were gone, for good, and, I thought I had more time with you, but in the end, time was, a liar, it’d, stolen everything from our, lives………

Goodbye in the Sunset

Meeting back up with his high school instructor now, and she’d wondered how he’d been, translated…

During the summer of my sophomore year in university, I’d worked at a gas keg delivery shop, to make my own tuition and money for living, in the three months’ work, I’d only taken two days off.

At sunset that day, I’d ridden out on my scooter, with two large gas kegs, rammed into the tiny alley.  The woman who’d heard me rang the bell came, ushered me into her kitchen.  I lowered my cap, put down that heavy gas keg, swiftly, I’d, exchanged the old one with the new, and working in the high heat, it’d caused me to sweat like crazy.

The woman handed me a bowl of mung bean soup, and it’d moved me.  After all, in my days of working as a delivery person, I’m more used to being treated aloofly by others.

I’d lifted my head up wanted to say thanks, but, as I saw the woman’s face, tears came falling down my cheeks.

The woman opened her eyes wide up, looked stressed at me, the originally kind expression, suddenly turned merciful, and doubting, her eyes were, red too.

That woman, was my high school Chinese instructor.  She’d, identified me, anxiously inquired, “are you still in school, how’s the family?  How have you been?”, her inquiries came very fast, she’d still remembered how back in my final year of high school, that something majored happened at home, how I’d, frowned through that final year, never spoken another word to anybody again.

“Teacher, all is well with me now, I’m grateful for your concerns of me back then, I’m just, part-timing as a gas keg delivery person in the summers, it pays better!”, I’d explained to her, and she’d, started, smiling.

As I said goodbye to her, my instructor stood at the entrance of the alley, paved with the golden rays of the setting sun, like a kind mother, waving goodbye to me.

And so, this is how this instructor kept you in her mind, because of how you were back in high school, and, she’d become like a mother to you, as she’d shown the care and concerns for you back in your high school years, and you were grateful for her for being so kind too.

How to Tell When a Fish is Going on a Trip?

A few words of exchange between a father and a son, how a father gets, stumped by his own son’s, question, translated…

Summer: When we humans take trips, we take a backpack, that’s how we know we’re, going off.  When the fishes go on their trips, they only take with them their bodies, then, how would we know, that they’re, off then?

Me: how to tell, when the fishes are, going on their, trips…………

On that evening, the moments before I fell asleep, Summer rushed out of his bedroom, and asked me this question of “how to tell when the fish go on their trips.”  Back then, I was, stumped, couldn’t know how to reply.  He’d started, snickering, told me, “my question is, too hard for you, huh?”

We’d often, thought up of a ton of questions that we can’t answer for one another, that was, the game that Summer and I had, shared, during that period of time.

For instance, I’d, held a straight face, and asked him at age six, do you know who Kafka was?  As he’d looked at me confused, then, fallen into that state of, upset, I’d told him, with that cunning manner, it’s a difficult one I’d given you, huh!  And thus, began, the game of two, of us, father and son, and, we’d, given one another, a hard time too.  And afterwards, Summer started, asking me the questions, to attempt to, faze me.  For instance, he’d asked, why do the Herculean Beetle fly to our house?  I’d replied, the Herculean Beetles are nocturnal, because of the light in our living room, that’s why they’d, flown to the balcony.  He’d caught a humongous stick insect once, prodded me, why did the bug sway around when there’s, no wind to make it unsteady?  I’d immediately answered him, that it was pretending to be a twig swaying in the wind, to duck out from its predators, so it won’t get, eaten.

a child like this, with so many questions about the world…

photo from online

Every answer I gave, I’d, taken that tone of pride in my voice, so he couldn’t, question me.  Sometimes, my answers weren’t, precise enough, nor evaluated against the facts, no other reasons, but because I’m a father with the stronger pride.  As I’d slowly discovered, that Summer was coming up with more and more question that became, too abstract, and I’d started, stuttering then, and, given off hints, that I’d not known how to answer him.  Not long thereafter, Summer busted the bad quality of this game—when the questions are too ambiguous, or if they are the questions without the correct answers, then, he’d gotten the chance of, defeating me, and score for him, and, captured back that dignity of a son that he’d not owned originally.

Thinking back, these are, probably, the what-not-to-dos in parenting, forcing my own son to bust my own lacking in “field research” and just googled for the answers on the search engines, my own, laziness.

As the questions of “how to tell when a fish is off on its journey” surfaced, seeing how Summer was laughing secretively, I’d know, that I got, checked!  That this game was, totally, over for me!  And then, there would be, two, three years that follows, which I will be, answering to my bullshitting him, this was also, that biggest, boomerang that he, as a son, can thrown back at me, his father—daddy, can you prove what you’d just answered me?

It’s just, how, how do I tell, when a fish is, off on its, journey?  This difficult problem, should be researched, a someone with a doctoral degree, isn’t it?

In the era when YouTube is used to explain just about everything, trying to find a question that can, faze my son—this surely, isn’t a Q&A game that a father can fake his understanding of things, to fool his own young.

Broadcast Yourself?  That’s it, the game of father and son, it’s, merely, a father, playing, against, his own, self, to make himself feel more important.  It’s just, that now, my son only needed to, wiggle his fingers, and, he could quickly discover, that his father’s questions for him are all, questionable.  And I can only, sigh, that the challenges that the YouTube era gave to us, fathers, truly is, difficult.  On the thought, you, as a father, it doesn’t matter if you have a doctoral degree, or if you actually have a fish, we still can’t tell, precisely, if the fishes are, already, taking their, trips away.  For the children who had yet to grow up, they’d understand to communicate and understand the fish in the tanks, along with being best pals with your, fish.  This, we will, never, catch up to them.

And so, it’s not that hard, to tell, “when a fish is off on its, journey”, I only have one possible answer for now, I’ll ask the tea stewed egg a bit, maybe, I will, get an answer immediately.  Yep, my question isn’t, that easily, answered, huh?

P.S., Tea Stewed Egg is a cat owned by a friend.

And so, there comes a time in our lives, when our young come up with extraordinary questions, not to test us, not to beat us at our own games, but only to show, that they’re, growing cognitively by the day, and, in these moments we get, stumped, we will surely feel, embarrassed, because, mommy and/or daddy no longer have ALL the answers!  How’d that happen, huh?  Because the kids are, smarter by the generations here still…

Fountain Pen

Memories of those younger years of life, that stayed…translated…

My house is two streets away from my aunt’s.

Every morning, my mother would ride her bicycle to my aunt’s to do her laundry.  My aunt was the older sister of my mother, in order to help with our household finances, she’d hired my mother as a laundrymaid for over a decade now.

Although we lived only two streets apart, and both our families had the mansions, with the families of fours, but, everything in my aunt’s house had that scent of elegance to it.  In the daytime before I was school age, I’d gone on discovery trips at my aunt’s home, and that house that was built like a palace became as familiar as the back of my hand.

with the ink level showing here…photo from online

First, the high-end sedan parked outside, that was one of the things my mother told me not to touch.  The fur draped over on the couch in the living room, the wine cabinets by the T.V., with the assortments of souvenirs from all over the world, the high-end chinaware, dinnerware on the dining tables in the kitchens.  Other than the marble floors, the staircases of the three-stories were all lined with carpeting, although later on, I’d realized, that it’s no fun, cleaning up the carpets, but it’d still showed how appearances were important in my aunt’s home.

And, of these places in the house, the den kept my interests the most.  There was a shelf that lined the walls, with the heavy volumes of encyclopedia, and the volumes that my uncle needed to flip through for his work, and there was also a family photo of my aunt on vacation abroad.  The other wall became a closet, with the name brand purse, bags, and elegant clothing stored inside, and my mother had been in awe, at how well my aunt had, kept her figure all these years.  On the other side of the study was my older cousin’s piano and my uncle’s desk, with the thick volumes of sheet music, and the documents, and they gave off that sense of elegance that was, beyond my grasp.  On the tea stand by the desk, was the projector and films that my uncle needed for his work, each of the film, after the colors were, extracted out, all became those weird, but attractive picture, a micro sort of mysteries of images.

What made the den even more elegant, was that window that faced out, in the daytime, the sun passed through the thick burgundy-colored drapes, the sapphire colored carpet became, deeper, and thicker, the silent piano keys showed the black and white contrast of the ivories, like they’re, lost in deep, meditation.

The place where my mother did the laundry was the add-on of the rooftop, where a healthy-coated, agile looking Shetland sheepdog was kept.  When I’d not explored downstairs, I’s sat quiet, as my mother did the laundry loads.  The umbrella, the penguin, the crocodile, my mother pointed out each and every one of the brand logos out to me, even the dirty socks, and soiled underwear that my older cousin wore, my mother washed them until they’re, completely, whitened with her two hands.

There were several times when I’d gone to eat the meals at my aunt’s, because of how serious and quiet my uncle was, along with how excellent my two older male cousins were, it’d made me feel, very, out-of-place, I’d hated to go home quickly.  After the meals, my older cousins never watched those shows that were for entertainments, but those science programs, I’d watched, but never understood what I was watching.

One day after the meals, my cousin led us into his father’s den, pulled out the drawer of the desk, and, took out a white pen mysteriously.  The pen was chubby, looked like a fountain pen, actually, on the other side, there was a blonde in a bathing suit, with the perfect curves.  We saw my cousin smiled that cunning smile, he’d, turned the pen upside down, and, the ink level declined, and, the woman’s swimsuit was, also gone with it, she was, nude.

Ever since I knew this secret, I’d often wait until my aunt and her family was away, took out the fountain pen from the drawers, and, turned the pen up and down repeatedly, like the grains of sand falling in an hourglass, so the woman can put on and take off her bathing suit repeatedly, to pass the long mornings.

And so, you’d, discovered this “secret” that your uncle had, and, I’m sure, that to your uncle, that pen is NOT just for the sake of writing, it fed into his need to see a nude woman, without your aunt’s knowing it…

Traumatized, Between a Parent & a Child

The adults’ careless words that impacted a child into the adulthood years, this showed the extent of your words, and their effects in your children’s lives, translated…

When I was five, I’d always, slept, with upside down on my parents’, bed, they couldn’t understand why I’d needed to sleep with them, and, they couldn’t, get me to stop climbing in next to them in the middle of the nights, but, because I’d, adjusted my sleeping postures soon enough, they’d, allowed me to sleep with them, and they’d, forgotten this, tiny interlude of my, childhood years.

But I still remember something that upset me during this period of time. 

Late one night, I suddenly woke, heard my parents in conversation, I’d not moved an inch, I’d not wanted to listen in on their conversations, just wanted to, fall back to sleep again, but, a sentence that’s stayed with me came into my ear canals, ‘if my daughter was so-and-so that would be wonderful!”

The person my parents were referring to was my older female cousin, very well-behaved, did excellent academically too, it’s only natural, that the adults, loved her so, but, am I, really, that awful?  I’d started, to cry in the darkness, until my parents finished their conversations, fell asleep, I’d, still, stayed, wide awake, shocked, at this “secret” I’d heard.

“So, mom and dad don’t love me”, this thought started, rooting itself down inside of my young mind, and after this long, even though, the vines that entangled me in were, already, cut off almost, completely, but, I couldn’t, uproot this thought one bit.

The adults may think, that children can’t understand, or that they forget easily, and sometimes, their, careless words, blurted out, had caused the traumas in your young’s mind forever.

And this is precisely W-H-Y, you FUCKING (don’t pardon me here!!!) adults need to WATCH what you say in front of your kids, because even IF you think they’re not listening, their eyes are still, watching G-O-D, with their ears, tuned IN to your words, so, DO take this into consideration, the next time you want to blurt something out, even IF you don’t mean it so seriously, your young will, take it to heart, ‘cuz that’s, what we, children, ALL do!!!

On an Unknown Early Morning

On an unknown early morning, she woke up, not knowing, what’s up ahead in her day, she got dressed for school, as she’d done from before…

She got out at six thirty, walked on that small road between the fields, like she’d, always done in the mornings, getting to school, then, she can’t remember, what happened afterwards.

She woke, in a room, full of, bright light, with voices, so sharp, so loud it’d, made her ears ache.  She’d, blinked her eyes, tried to get things into focus, but it’s like, something’s, obstructing her view, she’d, rubbed her eyes, to try to clear it, it didn’t work.  It took her, a very long time, to realize, that the white room she was in, wasn’t her class, where she was, supposed to be.

Then, a woman’s voice started speaking, she tried to follow where the sound came from, but, she couldn’t see!!!  The woman’s voices told her, “Ms. You’d been, attacked, we just did a rape kit on you!”  A rape what???   That wasn’t supposed to happen, I was on my way to school, then, for some unknown reasons, I ended up, here…

The woman’s voice continued, “is there someone you’d like us to call for you, an adult, maybe?  Your parents, perhaps?  Do you have their numbers???”

On an unknown early morning, nothing was supposed to happen, it was, just like any other day, she got up, got into the shower, to wake herself up, brushed her teeth, put on her clothes, dressed herself for school, and, sat at the breakfast table, as her mother worked in and out of the kitchen, her father, sitting in his chair, with his paper, reading…

Nothing was supposed to happen, on an, ordinary, unknown, early morning, but something did, something that made her wish she was, dead, but she wasn’t, she’d, survived through the physical and sexual assault, and now, she’s, broken!!!

The Lies of the Ninth

The memories of trauma, suppressed, because the individual, was way too young, and, something DID happen, maybe, just not the version of the story that this person had told, to her/his, adult counterparts, translated…

There was something that happened when I was younger, that impacted me, something that’s, a part of, my chaotic memories…

At nine, my mother wanted me to test into the GT classes of an all-star elementary school, that’s, farther away from where I used to live, I’d gotten in, and, she’d, transferred me there.

On the first day of school, as I arrived home, I’d told her, that I was, almost, abducted by a bad guy, there was, a woman in a covered up motorcycle helmet that told me she’d brought the lunches for my mother to me.  I’d told my mother: back then, I was playing outside the gates of my school, and the woman asked me to go with her, I’d felt that something wasn’t quite right, because mom wouldn’t do that, and I’d, run scared, back to the school.  But, I wasn’t, acquainted with my new school yet, it took me, a long time, to finally, get back into my class.

As I’d told, I’d, started crying scared.  My mother was shocked, the very next day, she’d, called up the school, as well as the Department of Education to, we’d, almost gotten the case on the press; within a week’s time I was, transferred, back to my former school again.

But actually, this, was a story I’d, made up.

illustration from UDN.com

There were, two primary motives of me lying: to find a justifiable reason for me heading into school ate, and find a way to go back to my former school, that’s not based off of “I don’t want to go to my new school”.

Two years ago, with my deep-rooted guilt, I’d, told my parents this truth, admitted that I was, lying to them from back when in the family therapist’s office, and I’d, made up the stories, from an illustrated book my parents bought for me, “I Have a Way”, and, the details of what the woman whom I’d told had, tried to take me away, came from the illustration of a person in a helmet, trying, to take a child away in the pages.

Because my story was, fully-thought out, without any flaws, to the point, that my parents, as well as the staff members of the school all thought it was, true, for almost, twenty years.

Do children who read, really behave themselves?  The knowledge I’d gained from reading, taught me how to commit a crime.

And yet, up to recently, I’d felt, chaotic of this memory.

There was a part of me that felt, that might there have been, something that’s, happened to me, even though it may not have been, the version of the stories I’d told?  How else, would I come up with, the specific details, including what the woman sounded like, what she was dressed in, what her scooter looked like…………

The me at nine years old, I’d, watched the scenes, played on in my mind, as I’d, “retold” my mother what had, happened (and if I remembered correctly, the highest scoring section of my G.T. exams was in the “thinking skills in space and images”).  And, I’d, started crying like there was, no tomorrow, to the point I was, trembling hard, if I were lying, then, how come I had, such physiological response?  Could it be, that I’d, fooled myself into believing?  Or, had there actually, been something that’s, too awful, too shocked, for the me at age nine to accept?  So I’d, forgotten, and, altered this memory of mine, to make it, fictitious?

Several years ago, I’d gone to a hypnosis therapy session, to deal with the problem of ‘feeling a ton of pain, but I can’t cry”.  This was, completely opposite to the me at nine, who’d, “made up a story, that’s, false, and cried like it actually, happened.”

And yet, at the physical classes, I’d shown, the “reflexive response outbursts” in crying, as the coach helped me to relax my diaphragm, I’d, started, wailing hard, it was, a sort of cry, from the depth of my body.

The coach told me, that the diaphragm is a place where, “unresolved emotions are, stored”, so, there may be, some sort of, very deep trauma from long ago, that’s still, not yet, entered, into my consciousness, stayed still inside of my body.

I’d instinctively felt, that in the lies I’d told when I was nine, there might have been something, that’s made me stuck, as a twenty-nine year-old, grown up right now.

So, something definitely happened to you, because of the physiological response of your body, and this sort of a response only comes, when the body had, experienced, something that’, extremely, traumatic, so, maybe something HAD, happened to you at age nine, just not as you’d, remembered it, being almost abducted by a stranger, maybe, it was, something else, that’s, more serious, because the body, it, NEVER lies, and it’s, up to this individual, to dig even deeper, if s/he can, to find out exactly, what had, happened to her/him in his childhood years, and resolve what happened to her/him, piece, by piece.  And, until this person resolved everything, s/he will, always, have that thing that’s, blocking her/his path, from reaching her/his, full potential.

The Paradise Called Childhood, Lost…

The paradise called childhood, lost, and no matter how hard you’d tried, you will, NEVER get it back again.  The paradise called childhood, lost, for good, and, it’s, never found again, and, even as you’d, backtracked to what went wrong back then, there’s, still NO way of making up, for the loss of time you were supposed to have been, allotted, through childhood.

The paradise called childhood, lost, forever, and, it’s, never found, because, just like how Alice never dug herself back out, of that Rabbit Hole, after her head was, chopped off by the Queen of Hearts???  (I mean, how can you possibly still DIG your way out of a hole, IF you got your heads chopped off, right???  Think about it for a sec…).

like this abandoned Teddy by the side of the road???  Photo from online…

The paradise called childhood, lost, don’t know when I lost you, childhood, but, you’d been gone for so long now, and, even though, it’s, not at all normal, for a child like me, to live without a proper childhood, I had, forced myself to adapt, to growing up without you in my younger years…

The paradise called childhood, lost, and nobody knows how, it was here, just a short while ago, but, it’s not here now, perhaps, it fell through to the depth of that rabbit hole, and, never dug itself out, like Alice???