Today we traversed the forgotten realms of Middle Earth, reiterated the footsteps of a ranger elf striding stealthily through the woods, relived magical fantasies of childhood innocence ala Enid Blyton complete with red-orange leaves crunching satisfyingly under footsteps (which made being a stealthy elf even harder), hidden spaces in nooks and crannies for the hiding when sulking at the parents and stashing of beloved odds and ends, quaint cobblestone bridges crossing over rivers onto the other side where the chimney sweep lived, climbed The Pollock Beech Tree (THE!!), followed white rabbits down rabbit holes and Totoro-like underpasses with leafy tunnels, and by inches missed the cunning trickery of evil witches who lived under evil trees with evil branches ready to snap out a wily hand and pull us down into the undergrowth so she can fatten us up for little children stew.
And I came home wondering if like us, English children ever dreamed of having a kampung childhood in the sawah padi, wooden house of stilts, kelapa trees for the climbing sort of environment and if they don't, would they be dreaming it if they were brought up reading books about above-mentioned kampung childhood?
And then I also thought that all childhoods are precious things whatever type it is, whatever country you're in, whatever environment it is, as long as you have fun, run around carefree like a child should, create games you entertain yourselves with, then you haven't any regrets.
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