Taking The Time Off With Tekla
Last summer, while rummaging our bodega filled with filthy old things, I saw a familiar tattered doll sitting quietly by the broken TV sets. It wore a red hat and an over-sized dress smeared with rat poop and urine. I cringed at the sight of a childhood that was long forgotten and abandoned through the years. I picked it up and brushed it off a bit. Its back was ripped; the cotton inside it dangled out.
It was my first playable doll; it was Tekla.
When I said playable, I meant it. While I had many dolls before, Mama forbade me from playing them. Because of this, they ended up as embellishments in the house (more of dust collectors) so imagine how grateful I was to my Auntie Norma and Uncle Louie when I received that big doll in the morning of January nineteensomething.
I had just woken up, and had seen Papa preparing for work when he pointed to a doll still wrapped in plastic with an SM orange sticker on it in the heap of gifts we had just finished unwrapping during the New Year celebration.
“Oh, pahabol na regalo.” Papa brought the doll to me.
I immediately removed her from the plastic and then I saw her smile. That fixed smile that had always invited me to play. Ecstatic, I asked Papa what name I should give her.
“Papa, anong ibibigay kong pangalan dito? Maganda ba yung Strawberry?”
“Baduy yung Strawberry, Anak. Maganda Tekla.”
“Ehhh! Bakit naman Tekla? Ang pangit naman nun!”
Although aghast with what Papa suggested, I ended up picking up the obnoxious name. It was easy to remember, anyway, and catchy, too. So, from that day on, I called her Tekla. Papa and Mama called her Tekla. Even my playmates do not just refer to “your doll” but Tekla. Everyone in our lane knows the name of my doll version of Little Red Riding Hood.
Seeing her again was like a flashback rolled in front of me. A flashback of a colorful childhood with an inanimate playmate.
Back then, my playmates and I do role-playing games most of the time. Sometimes we role-play Power Rangers; sometimes we role-play whatever we imagine or think of. There was one particular time though, where we decided to play bahay-bahayan or that role-playing wherein you are one big family and assign who’s the Nanay, Tatay, or even the family doctor. I was to play the Nanay then. A pregnant Nanay. So a playmate suggested I stuff Tekla into my dress to make me look like I’m pregnant.
“Oh, kunyare manganganak ka. Ipasok mo na si Tekla sa damit mo tapos hihilahin ko kunyare para mukhang totoo tsaka para mabilisan,” the boy who was playing the family doctor suggested.
I found the idea so awkward and absurd I decided to quit playing and, with my doll, I went home instead.
I also remembered the time when I danced with Tekla so forcefully I ripped her right arm apart. I panicked right then and was almost in tears when I saw her dismembered, but Auntie was to the rescue. She mended Tekla right away.
In other words, Tekla was more of a doll for me back then. She was a younger sister whom I slept with every night. Yes, I have a brother to play with, but of course I preferred someone of the same gender. And it was Tekla for me.
I do miss those moments when the only problems were about how to sneak out the house during siesta time or how we will be able to outwit the other team in patintero. When the only worries were how great my baon was and how to get Mama buy you that one toy I’ve always wanted. Or just getting so pumped up in finishing my homework so that I could go out and play. Life was less complicated back then. Life was full of enjoyment and bliss. Life was easy.
I am now 18. And I’ve seen how tough life can be. I know there’s more to come. More severe. More challenging. More life-threatening. I now understand what it is like when older people say how lucky children are. Kids do not worry; they just take pleasure in life.
Although tattered and reeking, I asked Mama if I could keep Tekla at home.
“Sus naman, Anak! Ang laki mo na, lalaruin mo pa yan? Itapon mo na yan. Wala nang pag-asa yan. Pampasikip lang yan dito sa bahay!” Mama retorted.
I was stunned. There’s just something about the doll that makes it difficult for me to dump her into the trash bag. It’s like a part of me was in her. A happy, if not always happy, childhood. She was a reminder that I have experienced living the life of a normal child. After all, most of my toys before were given away without my permission. And Tekla was the only one who fortunately remained.
Eventually, after a few reasoning out, she gave in. I assured her that I will wash Tekla first before I bring her inside the house.
Tekla is now in my room, sitting quietly, and waiting when I come home from Manila. And she’s doing a good job of reminding me that sometimes, I have to loosen up a bit, get rid of stress, rest for a while and enjoy life. Just like the child I was back then. Back when it was only Tekla and me.
It was my first playable doll; it was Tekla.
When I said playable, I meant it. While I had many dolls before, Mama forbade me from playing them. Because of this, they ended up as embellishments in the house (more of dust collectors) so imagine how grateful I was to my Auntie Norma and Uncle Louie when I received that big doll in the morning of January nineteensomething.
I had just woken up, and had seen Papa preparing for work when he pointed to a doll still wrapped in plastic with an SM orange sticker on it in the heap of gifts we had just finished unwrapping during the New Year celebration.
“Oh, pahabol na regalo.” Papa brought the doll to me.
I immediately removed her from the plastic and then I saw her smile. That fixed smile that had always invited me to play. Ecstatic, I asked Papa what name I should give her.
“Papa, anong ibibigay kong pangalan dito? Maganda ba yung Strawberry?”
“Baduy yung Strawberry, Anak. Maganda Tekla.”
“Ehhh! Bakit naman Tekla? Ang pangit naman nun!”
Although aghast with what Papa suggested, I ended up picking up the obnoxious name. It was easy to remember, anyway, and catchy, too. So, from that day on, I called her Tekla. Papa and Mama called her Tekla. Even my playmates do not just refer to “your doll” but Tekla. Everyone in our lane knows the name of my doll version of Little Red Riding Hood.
Seeing her again was like a flashback rolled in front of me. A flashback of a colorful childhood with an inanimate playmate.
Back then, my playmates and I do role-playing games most of the time. Sometimes we role-play Power Rangers; sometimes we role-play whatever we imagine or think of. There was one particular time though, where we decided to play bahay-bahayan or that role-playing wherein you are one big family and assign who’s the Nanay, Tatay, or even the family doctor. I was to play the Nanay then. A pregnant Nanay. So a playmate suggested I stuff Tekla into my dress to make me look like I’m pregnant.
“Oh, kunyare manganganak ka. Ipasok mo na si Tekla sa damit mo tapos hihilahin ko kunyare para mukhang totoo tsaka para mabilisan,” the boy who was playing the family doctor suggested.
I found the idea so awkward and absurd I decided to quit playing and, with my doll, I went home instead.
I also remembered the time when I danced with Tekla so forcefully I ripped her right arm apart. I panicked right then and was almost in tears when I saw her dismembered, but Auntie was to the rescue. She mended Tekla right away.
In other words, Tekla was more of a doll for me back then. She was a younger sister whom I slept with every night. Yes, I have a brother to play with, but of course I preferred someone of the same gender. And it was Tekla for me.
I do miss those moments when the only problems were about how to sneak out the house during siesta time or how we will be able to outwit the other team in patintero. When the only worries were how great my baon was and how to get Mama buy you that one toy I’ve always wanted. Or just getting so pumped up in finishing my homework so that I could go out and play. Life was less complicated back then. Life was full of enjoyment and bliss. Life was easy.
I am now 18. And I’ve seen how tough life can be. I know there’s more to come. More severe. More challenging. More life-threatening. I now understand what it is like when older people say how lucky children are. Kids do not worry; they just take pleasure in life.
Although tattered and reeking, I asked Mama if I could keep Tekla at home.
“Sus naman, Anak! Ang laki mo na, lalaruin mo pa yan? Itapon mo na yan. Wala nang pag-asa yan. Pampasikip lang yan dito sa bahay!” Mama retorted.
I was stunned. There’s just something about the doll that makes it difficult for me to dump her into the trash bag. It’s like a part of me was in her. A happy, if not always happy, childhood. She was a reminder that I have experienced living the life of a normal child. After all, most of my toys before were given away without my permission. And Tekla was the only one who fortunately remained.
Eventually, after a few reasoning out, she gave in. I assured her that I will wash Tekla first before I bring her inside the house.
Tekla is now in my room, sitting quietly, and waiting when I come home from Manila. And she’s doing a good job of reminding me that sometimes, I have to loosen up a bit, get rid of stress, rest for a while and enjoy life. Just like the child I was back then. Back when it was only Tekla and me.