I had added a few items to my cart as I hesitated. I mentally would compare the deals. I would usually strike a deal when my luck was thin. My area of expertise Anime merch. It began when I was younger when I would organize anime goods. I was hooked as the new game Genshin came out. I wanted to obtain some merch. It turned into a frenzy as I had bought merch.
My secret late night shopping binges. The neon screen flared as I scrolled for the deals. I passed a few Black Butler collectibles and my recent obsession, “Alien Stage merch LUKA ONLY.” The purple button to check out enticed me. As the deals flew in. I would take a gamble and checkout. 2 left and one at 90 and the other for 45. Both official.
Temptation drove me, “One more.” I had never been the type to gamble. It started with an innocent dress up game. Until my mind broke from trading SR outfits, “It would be a fun time.” They said. They meaning me. In 2020ish 2019 I had downloaded PurenistaM a cute digital pixel game. They had cute baskets so I caved at the time. I wasn’t aware of PRM. PRM is like the equivalent of premium currency but paid in stars. When I had switched my old phone I didn’t realize the account wouldn’t transfer.
I had been kinda nostalgic after my breakup with Silas so I decided to revisit it. I tapped the cute icon. I had entered the virtual dress up game world. One more pull….Genshin had really worn down my ability to pull. Gacha games the worst on my psyche.
“How come you get all 5 star characters?!” Silas had writhed in pain. I sighed, ” Fine i’ll pull for Raiden.” I pulled and surprisingly got her on his account. By the end of the year I had some decent 5 stars from F2P. (Free to play). I hadn’t known the exact rules of poker.
I didn’t bother picking up the habit as I passed the cruise casino and slots machine. I’d take a gamble on fate. MY lucky Aventurine locked behind my phone. I had never been great at raffles but there were times I was lucky.
I would pull at my memory for the toy Bazaar. I was in kindergarten as we shuffled to the gymnasium music playing. I held my paper bag close to me. We were allowed to fill the bag with toys we wanted for Christmas. There was the cake walk as well for the adults. I clutched my bag browsing afraid another kid would take a good toy. Not just any toy but the rare ones. I had picked the barbie castle instinctively. It had been a Rapunzel tower. Vintage now. But I would play with it. As a child I would sit there with the neon orange shark.
“We can be the best of friends.” The shark chuckled as the barbie I played with was lost to time. I looked up at the sign, “Am I really allowed to t..take the toy?” The teacher smiled, “As long as it fits in the bag.” Toys? My mother hated them. It was just clutter to her. To me it was a world away from the painful garden I grew up in.
VHS tapes rewound and played again. That was my playtime. Most of my childhood surrounded in fog. The correct way to behave, the correct way to eat. Minding my manners. How to converse with adults. I wasn’t able to form friendships with the other children. My mother was embarrassed as she tried to help me, “But I want to have alone time. I don’t want to play with them.” The words stung as my body ached. They couldn’t understand me, what I liked, what I loved.
I hesitated unable to continue a playdate that had barely passed an hour. I didn’t fit in. I was too old to be a child. Even though I was a child, “Yumeji if you can’t learn to get along with Cass then I’ll bring you home. That or a spanking.” Cass’s mother had repeated. Cass had been my childhood friend. I had learned the art of compromise. To sacrifice my own needs for someone. I would be easy to play with.
I wanted to fit in with other school children. But fate set me apart from the rest. My mother bought me books about being adopted. To normalize it, “Giraffes can’t dance by Giles Andreae illustrated by Guy Parker-Rees.” I wasn’t numb to the existence that I existed in a reality where I was a performance. I was talked about. I would make a ring of books opened as I slept on the floor in the middle.
Why I did it? To be protected from the harsh reality. The reality that I was spoken of, “Did you hear that child..” I was lost to time. I was the child who didn’t speak until spoken to. A childhood full of a sea of memories. At 5 I had run away at the age after my mother yelled at me.
“Do your chores! right now or i’ll thow out your art supplies.” The ache of the silent tears. I couldn’t say I was mad. I couldn’t say I hated her. I lost my voice for the very thing I stood for, “I hate you.” but I picked up my suitacse with barely clothes in it and headed for the door, “I want to runaway!” I walked across to the neighbors house. My mother looked over the balcony as the sweet couple were in the driveway. My mother yelled, “Can Yumeji come over for a bit?” The couple had agreed to watch me as I rebelled.
Janice a lovely woman older took my hand, “What happened sweetheart?” I shook my head. I was so upset that the very person who took care of me had threatened me, “I don’t know I got mad.” I responded as she gave me some juice. I smiled, ” I feel better now. I’ll go home.” The whole ordeal lasted an hour. My mothers house sat on a hill with a rocky slope. I came home. To a home that held horrors.
My mother smiled, “Did you have a good break? I love you.” Her love was a leash tied that would tie me to the very being I was meant to be. Not who I shold have been. Not who I was. The person who I was to grow into. Toys and crafts could easily be replaced. I counted down the minutes as I stood in the dark pantry. A half an hour this time and hour 5 minutes.
Toys? time for games or playtime. Chores. My measly 12 dollars chained me to obedience. I smiled as I went to school. During playdates I would see the amount of toys compared to my reality. I wanted them but could never run far enough to obtain such a luxury.
Cass had collected littlest pet shop and I wanted to too. I wanted the rare ones. Not the generic ones. Cass had tons. Every walk doentown we would see the new selection of toys. I wanted them just like her. It was my first time collecting something I cherished. She chuckled, “I already got that one.” I wanted something that took away the pain. I wanted a collectable something I found and cherished.
My little hands held the pastel bat. I wanted the fuzzy bat too I’d name him Edgar. All my littlest petshop had names, “Stephanie, Ellen, Edgar.” I would re- enact little skits. Sitting in my bedroom as the radio played. I was allowed a radio. I would always listen to the top hits. (This helped my intuition later in life.)
I would collect that was my thing, my hobby. I had smiled as I obtained my wishlist. I latched onto collecting. I wanted the best of the best. I would grow up to enjoy the thrill of collecting. Hunting rare merch. My shelves lined with Black Butler merch glared at me. A new character, a new home for my obsession.
I recently began collecting BL merch. How could ordering a package feel like collecting a piece of joy. I smiled as I ripped open the package. Mercari was my dangerous sport, hunting acquiring sealing a deal for the price of two. Finding rare merch forced me to interact socially with sellers.
I told myself I’d miss out if I didn’t ask. If Ididn’t ask I wouldn’t know. My most prized possession Ciel Phantomhive Book of Atlantic BJD. I had waited 8 years to get my hands on a limited collectible. I had reached out to a proxy seller. Wondering if they had any clue how to obtain such a limited BJD. (Ball jointed Doll). It took a few month for the deal to go through.
Honestly If I never asked I would have never obtained a luxury. I had to fight for what I wanted in this lifetime. I wouldn’t let the fear set in me. I would ask even if it was stupid. My stubborn attitude would show through when I wanted something I deeply loved. I had rewrote the ending to my fairytale a million times.
Would I fear the regret that comes after not speaking up? Collecting drove me to enjoy the small moments, small chances. I wouldn’t wait anymore. I submitted applications as most got rejected. It wasn’t my time yet to shine. But someone out there was waiting for me to return. To run home to a mansion in a faraway kingdom. Tucked behind the garden I lay with a book over my face.
A collectors wish. I had known others who collected for the sake of filling an empty void. Every limited item everything. What was so special about owning everything if everything was the same value? I’d rather have a few luxuries, small collectibles that meant the world to me.
I want to cherish this memory. I put the photos in a bag and stored them. I would collect magnets from other countries and postcards. To me they held memory. I was sentimental I couldn’t hide my nature. I would save letters I wrote to partners. I would save a piece of that memory.
“Do you remember me? We used to play together and hang out.” He shook his head, “I don’t remember sorry.” My mind drifted. We used to play and make stop motion videos, listening to audio books and coloring. I hesitated, “Sorry for being a bother.” I hung up the phone mentally. I whispered life into objects.
In the end I had become a collectible. The faint scent of oil paints stained me as I became a portrait in the grand hall. I used to be a prince who bargained his life away with becoming spoiled. My feet danced to the melodic hum of the waltz. In another world I lived as a noble. I would be the last heir of the century in another life. I lay there holding my book looking at the love of my life in the garden.
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