Trapped in Bubble Wrap
As I looked through my Parisian building’s plastic recycling container I found the one object I truly was not expecting, and as it instantaneously brought me back to my childhood years I quietly observed its features. With a slight smirk on my lips and without uncertainty or indecision, I started popping its transparent air bubbles, as the sound they emitted had me burst into a childlike and foolish laughter. I remember when packages of pasta, books, or plates and glasses my parents ordered from the internet came home; my sister and I were incontrollable. We started unpacking and emptying whatever these cardboard boxes contained, and pulled out all of its bubble warps. It was incredibly fascinating how we covered all of our wooden pavement of air bubbles, and how comical and entertaining it was to feel them popping under our naked feet. The melody they created when bursting resounded around the whole house, often burdening my parents who worked in the adjacent room of the apartment. How alluring an object may drive your thoughts to an amazingly distant memory, and how confusing it is to relive it under such different circumstances. My age suddenly shifted back to its original number, but I couldn’t stop from smiling as I looked at the bubble wrap I was holding in my now adult and mature hand. After countless thoughts and speculations I decided to order some hair products, only for the pleasure and contentment the bubble wraps that would come with them could give me.
