The Barbie House

 

Previously on L'Heure Bleue: Preserver of Worlds | The Barbie House

"Kuya pakibaba yung dollhouse at yung maleta ko mula sa taas"

It was my sister who sent the message over Facebook Messenger last week. My reaction: Seenzoned. Disinterest had kept me from sending an affirmation.

A few days later, my sister sent another message.

"Yung dollhouse naibaba nyo? Ilang araw na ako kinukulit ni Castro." 

Castro is my sister's third child, which, unfortunately, I wasn't able to introduce in previous entries given my absence in Blogging.

At this point, my answer was "no." I knew the rickety house would collapse in less than a day if you leave it at the mercy of toddlers (the younger siblings) and youngsters (older brothers). Rough hands, clumsiness, and crude playstyle would simply break the remaining brittle links that connect the plastic components together. 

I also had no faith that it can be set up inside my sibling's small room. Lack of space has always been a problem at home and having that pink plasticky house placed on the ground would simply add to our burdens. I spoke these thoughts to my mother, and she supported my arguments. 

My decision was final.

But this wasn't what I told my sister. 

You see, she was supposed to leave for work-related activities in the province. She would be gone for a week and would have to isolate herself elsewhere for another week once she returns. Her distance and absence would mean telling her that I would take out the wretched toy from the overhead cabinet. In reality, no Barbie House would ever be reassembled. I would simply say we couldn't make it stand and it would put the idea to rest.

But Castro was also persistent, and although the 3-year old artistic child wouldn't pester me about the toy, like children of his age would do to their uncles, he would ask my mother about my plans of letting him play with the house.

Then came the news that my sister's work-related travel was canceled because of Covid19. 

Friday came and I had an out-of-town excursion set the next day. Our destination had a poor Globe signal and this would mean being gone without any form of communication to check the folks back home. To keep everyone preoccupied in my absence was at the top of my head. Better to keep them busy rather than finding out who picked fights and who got into trouble upon my return home.

And so I flipped around and asked the Hermit (our household helper) to bring down the Barbie House and just let my sister assemble the structure. It would be a great bonding moment for the kids, and should the house not stand, it would be easy to convince everyone not to bring the toy out - ever again.

Before leaving the house the next day, I took a small carton box out of my cabinet. It's tiny,  human-like replicas I lodged between the educational toys on the top shelf of the children's bookcase outside my room.

The dolls belong to me - a remnant of an age where boys were frowned upon when they chose to play with girls' toys. Those dolls are for my nephew, who wanted to play with the dollhouse - like it was meant to be his toy.

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As it turned out, the Barbie House was almost never assembled. My sister had to put adhesives just to put the pieces together. She said, it took her 2 hours to make the brittle structure stand and not wobble. She even wanted to adorn it with fairy lights to cap her achievement.

When I checked out Castro when I returned home, he was already playing with the dollhouse along with the Barbies I left behind. Contrary to expectations that he would simply groom the dolls, he was actually hosting a "tea party," with the rest of the figures - from Peppa Pig to Paw Patrol invited for the "housewarming."

And for a brief moment, what I saw was not my nephew but another kid, from another age, who would sneak out and play with the dollhouse in secret. Unbothered by what other kids or adults would say, he would immerse himself in his world, weaving fantasy stories that he still remembers to this day.