A Small Joy in the Midst of Ruin

Early one morning, I gathered the little worn money I had left.
I had been saving it for basic necessities—flour, cooking oil, maybe a bag of rice.
But a voice inside me whispered: “This moment will never come again.”

So I took him with me—his tiny footsteps bouncing with excitement—
To a small toy shop.
Half the shelves were empty. The others blackened by fire.
Yet his eyes filled with wonder, as if he had stepped into a world made just for him.

For the first time, I gave my child the freedom of joyful choice.
No more: “That’s enough, we don’t have the money,”
No more: “Not now, after the war.”
This time, I simply said: “Choose what you love.”

He stood still for a long time,
Staring at a shiny red car,
Then a small airplane,
Then a plastic doll partially burned by shrapnel.
Finally, he turned to me shyly and asked:
"Really, Mama? I can choose?"
I nodded with a quiet smile.

He chose a toy airplane, bright with many colors.

We left the shop, and he skipped beside me, glowing with happiness.
Hugging the toy to his chest, he said:
"I’m going to sleep with it tonight! I’ll show it to my friends. Then I’ll teach my sister how to play with it too."

Oh God—how simple his dreams are.
In that moment, I felt I hadn’t just bought him a toy,
But gifted him a joyful memory amidst the rubble.
A friend for the war.