the balloon child becomes a parent

where did you come from?
i want to protect you forever.

but i have no hands to hold you
perhaps wrapping myself around you will do

you cry too loudly for my large ears
made of air, i want to burst with air

--

Cindy suggests doing the animation first, perhaps with my voice telling the story. I know all the frames but can't bring myself to do them. I foresee them taped to my wall, my wardrobe, my shelves, a wistful narrative of disproportionate beings, and it makes me want to start.

I have to find the voice of the balloon child. Is it a soft voice? A child's voice? A girl or a boy? It seems that all these nuances of sound will determine the script. And that trickles on into the typeface, which trickles into the size and form of the book, and everything else.

I wish that 'balloon' was another word. I can't title this as Balloon Child, or Balloon.

Meanwhile, tomorrow i go back to the start. I only felt for these children when I came to know about them. And that is thanks to the royal family kids' camp, which i stumbled upon without thinking and have never untangled myself from since. Tomorrow begins the training for this year's camp, and i'll hear the stories again, sing the songs again, meet the volunteers again. Many more have signed up this year, expectant for something.

I'm not a kids person, I say to everyone. I really am not. But even among injustices there are some more unjust than others.