Ever since I was little, stuffed animals held a special place in my heart. My parents surrounded me with them. My crib was filled with Barney, Teletubbies, and Clifford: you name it, and I had it. I had a certified Noah’s Ark of stuffed animals with teddies of all shapes and sizes. I had the standard bears, wolves, rabbits, lions, cats, dogs and even a unicorn. I prided myself on having “the largest stuffed animal collection in the world” or so I claimed, with 55 plus stuffed animals. Other people collected stamps, I collected stuffed animals. But they meant much more to me than just a number or achievement.

I had dolls, but they didn’t have the same allure that teddies had for me. The anatomy of a doll is the complete opposite of a stuffed animal’s anatomy. The dolls had more features, but their huge eyes seemed empty. Their eyelashes were a superficial beauty but when I shook my dolls, as I often did, their eyes would shutter in an almost lifeless way. Dolls’ bodies are cold, hard, plastic and unforgiving instead of soft, warm and lovable. If I fell asleep with a doll in bed, the next morning I’d wake up with a sore back or with imprints on my skin. Whenever I was scolded or felt like life was just unfair, I wouldn’t cry on a doll, the tears would just run down its face. I’d cry into my teddies, and feel better as they soaked up the tears, like they were easing my pain by absorbing some of it.

I went through a phase with a doll that I called Ava. I carried her wherever I went and most of my childhood pictures were taken with her. However, after some point, her hair became dirty and grimy with dust and lint from all the misuse. My mom told me that I should just stop playing with her, for fear of the germs that her hair might carry. After that, I never asked my mom for a doll again. With stuffed animals, I never had to worry about germs. After a certain period of time, my mom would plop them in the wash and they would magically become clean and smell like flowers.

Each of the stuffed animals got names, and with that came their own identity. Some of the names were whimsical and some were just to the point, a reminder that I was after all a kid and couldn’t think up names better than Bunny or Penguin-y. Some were more complicated or were expanded upon when I got older. Like my favorite teddy, originally Dandelion for her yellow coloring, became Alexa Dandelion because I liked the idea that we both had two first names. The one I got for Christmas when we were in Australia was Caramel Ella. Caramel for her brown fur and Ella because I thought it sounded pretty.

As I learned new things, the stuffed animals changed as well; and soon the stuffed animals were getting married. Just as I was taught, there was no discrimination; the stuffed animals got married to whomever they pleased- a bear could marry a penguin. Whenever I got new teddies I had what I called “wedding season”, a whirlwind of marriages and “babies” that happened in the summer. The pregnancy would be the new teddy hiding under the mother’s shirt or me hiding it behind my back, a couple of heavy breaths later and voila! A child appeared. As a child, my naïve perception of marriage and babies was that as soon as the parents said “I do” and shared a fairytale kiss, the mother would immediately become pregnant and the child’s birth would come a minute after. When I found out how pregnancy actually happened, the teddies’ process of pregnancy remained the same, as a means of preserving the innocence that I associated with the stuffed animals. The games evolved from marriages to a full blown society. Each of my sibling’s rooms was a kingdom. I called mine Teddytania. We would send diplomats to each other’s rooms and arrange for tea parties. Alexa Dandelion, as my favorite, was the natural choice for matriarch.

The stuffed animals had meaning as I grew as well; they came from all over the world. They were a testament to my Dad’s trips, and I looked forward to when he came back, because he usually came back with a teddy, whether it was from Canada or Thailand. Other teddies were birthday presents from friends and family. When I decided that I wanted to be a doctor, I used my science kit and stethoscope and practiced on my stuffed animals. The stuffed animals got regular check-ups and I was often patching up rips and tears and saying that they were “good as new”. When I moved, the stuffed animals moved too. They were there on the long flight from DC to Japan, head peeking out of my backpack as I wandered through the airport, or as I looked out in awe from my window seat. And they were with me every step of the way as I said goodbye to the houses and the memories that filled it. I would kiss each doorknob with complete disregard for germs as a means of closure.

When I reached a certain age, my mom asked me to give up my toys for a local charity. Though I knew it was for a good cause, I was reluctant to do this. The dolls and dollhouses were the first to go. Next, it was the stuffed animals. I sorted through my whole collection, and as I did this all of the memories swirled and filled the air. I felt selfish, but how could I give up the teddies that held so many memories? In the end I gave up the teddies I received when I was a child, the ones that held distant and vague memories- the Barney, Serafina the cat, the clown, the lime green Teletubby, Lily the bear and Aunty Birdy. It was hard but I knew that there were people who needed the comfort of stuffed animals more than I did. It was a bittersweet moment because I was happy knowing that they’d be put to use, and not lie listlessly in a closet and sad knowing that I was letting go of some of the memories.

It’s saddening to think that all of these precious stuffed animals are reduced to being confined in a long brown box with the Asian Tiger logo printed on it, stuffed away into the corner of a dusty storage room. Today the sole representative of the once glorious kingdom of Teddytania is a fluffy scarlet and ebony ladybug, the last teddy added to my collection. It was a gift from one of my best friends on my 14th birthday. I call him Mr. Bugsy, and whenever I see him on my bed, he is a constant reminder of that best friend all the way around the globe in Malaysia.

To me, teddies are not only the manifestation of my childhood, but they are also memories that need to be cherished and preserved. Though I don’t play with them anymore, whenever I look at them they remind me of the people who gave it to me, the times we shared and the unique mentality that made me a kid.