Kiwi was the size of my palm, a bundle of caramel fluff and soft velvet. He had a special home in the pocket of my trousers and from there observed my tiny world in quiet contemplation. Whenever my small self needed comfort in the form of a cotton bundle, I'd bring him out, and we'd whisper secrets together at the school playground and no one would know anything except us and it was always special, always real. Kiwi was my best friend through thick and thin, a pillar in the foreignness of my life back then when the only thing I craved for was home.
Some time later, my family moved houses, and somewhere along the way Kiwi disappeared in the clutter of our living debris. I grew up, acquired human friends, and found solace in books and movies and the outdoors. It doesn't change the fact, however, that as a little girl I had this furry creature living everyday with me, inside my pocket, love in the form of a toy gift from a long transatlantic flight. As children we don't judge and conform to social norms, friends are found in the most quirky crooks and crannies.
A little imagination and a lot of love brought me a long way from isolation; which now, I think, serves as a reminder that perhaps we should all just go back to the core of genuine, sincere friendship and stay true to our original selves.
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