The Chaotic Mix of Love and Princesses Subha Safayet Shizda   © Copyright 2025 by Subha Safayet Shizda

Photo courtesy of Ebay.

I was just an ordinary first grader, or maybe not, what with all the aforementioned luxuries. But, on the outside, there was nothing out of the norm- a toothy, awkward grinned, tiny, slim-shouldered with chubby cheeks, missing teeth, purple glasses and short black curls that barely reached my shoulders. Like any other kid, I went to school every day, studied, made friends, and giggled and gossiped with my friends. Just the normal goofy kid, without a care in the world- timid but outgoing, and overly emotional and curious. I was a smart kid however, and very well taken care of; surrounded with loving friends and family. Sure, there were some bumps in the road, but that’s just life. Other than that, it was quite normal really.

But every single day, I stuck to a particular routine. Once I came back from school, I would shower, eat a hot meal, and get straight onto cartoons, or call my friends or spend time with my mother or read; while I waited for my dad to come home from work. I would lounge around, maybe even play with some of the vast array of different pastimes. Life is never boring as a child, just survive the day then its bedtime. But to me, each passing day was a special one, adorned with either a fun time with friends or something exciting, no matter what it was.

That particular Thursday wasn’t any different. During the evening, I was totally engrossed in my favorite cartoons and in desperate wait for my father. Soon, evening turned to night, the lurking darkness in the air settled comfortably into the sky. That was the sign that it was 8pm. Once I heard the bell, I shot out of bed, went and hugged him, and then, just like the usual seven year old, climbed back under the covers to get back to watching the television.

My father, tall and broad-shouldered, stood beside the bed, grinning, and his hands behind his back firmly. “Guess what I’ve got! I give you three chances!” I did not need three chances. The first answer that I yelled out in my squeaky child voice was correct. “A toy!” I yelled with enthusiasm clear and ringing in my voice, matching my father’s excited tone.

He chuckled, and out came his huge hands from behind his back. The most beautiful clear box laid on his stretched out palms, the edges decorated with the most posh and intricate gold designs I had even seen. It was protectively encasing two beautiful dolls from the popular kids’ cartoon, Sofia the First. The first doll was Sofia herself, dressed in lavender and dripping in gold, a ruby firmly placed on her chest, where her dress had a simply enormous white bow. Her dark brown curls dropped down her shoulders and her rosebud mouth smiled sweetly. Her sister Amber stood directly beside her, looking the same but with a pale green dress and blonde hair as straight as a pin. Both of their soft brown eyes looked up at me through the packaging- which I broke apart to set them free just seconds later.

I remember being absolutely thrilled to pieces, laughing and shrieking with delight as my father watched, towering over a tiny, gleeful me. The sharp plastic packaging could have probably hurt me with just one wrong move, but I didn’t care- not with a toy in my hands and my parents’ adoring gaze fixed on my bent curly head.

Funnily enough, I don’t think I have ever watched an episode of Sofia the First. Five years later when the dolls were donated away, I had to actually Google the name of ‘the girl in that green dress’ (Princess Amber). The dolls were cheap, the clothes were rough quality that grazed your fingers, the clear sparkly shoes slipped off their feet at the slightest movement, and I had to store them away in a cupboard to keep them at mint condition and not let their perfectly done paint get chipped away.

They stayed in some random box, where they soon lost the glittery shoes and had to wear plain red ones, ones that came from older, cheaper dolls. Their sparkling crowns lost a few gemstones, and quite a lot of glitter was pushed off the silver crowns resting midst crops of hair. But that didn’t matter. They fit like the final jigsaw piece in my Barbie world. Sure, they were bigger, wider, shorter, and different, but sometimes even an odd piece fits into a puzzle if you squeeze it in. You have just got to try.

But to this day, whenever I think of Sofia the First, this fond memory pops into my mind. I get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. I have gotten much more expensive toys. Indian and Canadian dolls, tiny accurate versions of Rolls Royce, but if you asked me about them I could never talk about how I got them or what I felt. But these low-quality dolls for some reason, took my heart away.

Maybe my sensitive self, found it overly sweet and sentimental? Maybe it was because the man I looked up to the most in the world had given it to me? Maybe the element of surprise had gripped me with emotion? There are some things you cannot explain at all. This was one of those phenomenon. It’s pretty strange, but it’s a memory that makes me light up and smile. So really, all that matters is the gesture and the intentions behind it, not the size or quality or cost. Ultimately, what brought the sunshine to my night that day was the person who gave me the gift, not the so called cheap ‘doll’ wrapped in acrylic paint and plastic.

No matter the flaws, what’s special is always special. And NOTHING can ever change that.