I normally hate teddy bears. Especially Winnie the Pooh. Because back then there's a TV show I'm sorry I don't remember the title but I clearly remember it was TV3 airing a ghost/horror flick series and yes of course Pooh was one of the ghost. A 7 years old kid died because Pooh strangled her to death. And guess whom affected by that? Well, of course, its ME!
Never ever in my life I have crush on any teddy bears and yes of course I loathe Pooh. I'm not even watch the cartoon or buy any product under Pooh's brand or name. And here comes Chucky. I loathe every doll ever existed either. They're not even worth my time.
But last month walking around Giant figuring out what to buy, my eyes locked at a pile of teddy bears. They're so cute! And my heart just fell on this one!
He looks sad like a cute sad one. You get what I mean? So I just picked him up and bring him back home. Just like that. 26 years of hatred and here I am sleeping with a teddy giving my life a brand new definition?
Why I did that? I don't know. I just need a new color in my life I bet. And did the bear haunt me or doing a weird stuff? So far, all he did is sitting at a corner and sleeping with me at night giving me the best comfort I want. Of course I feel safe. Of course I feel happy. Of course I'm in love with my teddy.