in his own world Written by Gabor Fu Ptacek Edited by Kaylee Chow Designed by Ceci Villaseñor at recess, i always sat on the sides and stared at the sky. an only child, not allowed to read books or play games in the car or while dinner was being prepared, i’d just stare at the sky and retreat into my own little world. i could be a demigod, a ninja, a ranger. i could play tag with my friends, swing on the monkey bars, run through forests, all from my bench. no need to get yelled at for being dirty, all the fun was to be had right here! in my mind! at dinner parties, with my parents and all the adults, my dad loves to tell the story of how gabor was always off in his own little world, even at recess or on a bike. his favorite is about how i’d be on the tandem bike with him in front, and he’d say “hope you’re pedaling back there!” and i’d respond “just cuz i’m in my own little world doesn’t mean i’m not pedaling.” lately, i envy that kid. he could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. he could always escape. now? i just think about my work, about whether i’m loved, about when i’ll be able to hug my friends again. there’s something to be said about a person who spends all his time in his own room not being able to find time for himself. well, i can’t. or at least i don’t. people have always told me to journal. or to draw. but the ideas and images in my head would always go by too fast for me to have time to sit and write or
draw. i’ve tried to journal, and it just feels like there’s nothing worth writing. can it be called writer’s block if it’s just a journal entry? when did that childlike imagination disappear? did it disappear completely? the past year has made me think about a lot of things, from police brutality to anti-Asian racism to q-anon conspiracy theorists. but i haven’t imagined many things. to escape, it was always with media or other people or both. why can’t i just sit and do nothing and think anymore? why do i always have to be doing something? listening to something? am i allowed to ask this many questions? the dreams in my sleep could never get any weirder, any more interesting than those during the daytime. i was so enamored with my own world, even if it wouldn’t be particularly interesting to anyone else. maybe my brain just shut those night dreams away. does the fact that i can remember dreams mean that that part of myself is truly gone? in the midst of covid-19, even with it hopefully drawing to a close, i’m reminded of that kid sitting on a bench at recess. if he knew i was able to be alone in my room without any chores to do or any nagging from my parents, he’d cheer at the stories he’d get to live through. i’m reminded of my fear of getting dirty, and how sanitation is preached more than ever. he’d definitely sing the songs under his breath to count to 20. i always say i wouldn’t go back and change anything in my life, because all the bad things made me who i am, but if i could go back and stop the being who took my imagination away, i’d do it. why am i, even now, worried that i’m not writing enough? that i’m not doing enough? that i’m not enough? who took away my imagination and placed this stress in my hands instead? take me back to the playground, where i can sit on a bench and enter that little world of mine.
