There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million.
– Walt Steightiff
Not long ago, I found myself in the toy aisle of a store — somewhere I hadn’t truly explored in years.
I wasn’t there for myself, of course.
A friend had mentioned her child’s recent obsession with dogs, and with no real puppy in sight, I thought: why not find the next best thing?
After a few moments of scanning shelves lined with plushies, puzzles, and blinking gadgets, I spotted it — a little electronic puppy toy, complete with floppy ears, a wagging tail, and a soft bark that somehow managed to be both mechanical and endearing. It didn’t take long to decide.
I bought it, imagining the child’s reaction and hoping it would bring at least a moment of pure delight.
Later that week, I handed over the little package.
The child’s eyes widened with wonder as he tore the wrapping open, revealing his new ‘pet.’ The toy barked once, wagged its tail, and was love at first bark.
He immediately gave it a name, began speaking to it as though it could understand him, and paraded it proudly around the room.
All of us adults looked on with a quiet smile, but I couldn’t help but be struck by how something so small and simple could bring such immense joy.
At that moment, I was transported back in time. I remember what it felt like to be young. And not just young, but young in spirit — that age when the boundaries between the real and the imaginary were blurry, where toys weren’t just objects but companions, characters, and even guardians of your innermost thoughts; when a new toy could open up a whole universe of stories, games, and dreams.
Childhood is such a magical period, yet we often don’t realise it until we’ve long since left it behind.
As adults, we become weighed down with responsibilities, deadlines, and the practicalities of life. We no longer look at clouds and see dragons. We no longer believe our stuffed animals can protect us from monsters under the bed.
However, as I watched that child wholeheartedly and sincerely immersed in play with the toy puppy, I was reminded that the magic remained.
It hasn’t disappeared. It’s just waiting quietly beneath the surface, ready to be rediscovered.
The beauty of childhood lies not just in innocence, but in the complete openness to possibility.
A child sees the world not for what it is, but for what it could be.
A cardboard box isn’t just packaging — it’s a spaceship, a pirate ship, a secret base.
A stick becomes a sword, a wand, a walking cane for a make-believe explorer.
That sense of play, of limitless imagination, is something truly sacred.
I sometimes think adults could learn a great deal from children — not just in how to see the world, but in how to feel it.
Children express wonder with such honesty.
They marvel at butterflies, collect pebbles like treasure, and stare up at the stars with wide eyes, unburdened by cynicism or doubt.
They feel things deeply — joy, disappointment, excitement, even boredom — all without filters.
And in doing so, they live fully in the moment, something many of us forget how to do.
The puppy toy didn’t just make a child happy.
It reminded me of how powerful even the smallest acts can be.
A gift doesn’t have to be expensive or elaborate to be meaningful.
Sometimes, it just has to come from a place of thoughtfulness.
To that child, the toy wasn’t a gadget with sound and motion—it was a friend.
A puppy to love, to take care of, to talk to when no one else was around.
In gifting that toy, I was inadvertently gifting memories.
And in witnessing that joy, I was gifted a moment of reflection.
I think, deep down, we all carry a part of our childhood with us.
It’s there in the songs we still remember, the smell of old books, the feel of rain on skin.
It’s there in the quiet nostalgia we feel when we pass a playground, or when we hear the familiar sound of an ice cream truck.
That inner child may grow quiet with age, but it never fully disappears.
So here’s what I learned from a battery-powered puppy: never underestimate the power of simple joy.
Whether it’s found in a child’s laughter or our distant memories, it matters.
We grow older, but we should never be too old to feel wonder, to play or to smile at something silly.
And now and then, maybe it’s good for us adults to walk down the toy aisle — not to buy something for ourselves, but to remind ourselves of what once made us happy, and what still can.
After all, the world could use a little more childhood magic.
And sometimes, it only takes a toy puppy to bring it back.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at sarahhafizahchandra@gmail.com.
