I have a confession to make — two Saturdays ago I spent three hours playing with Legos. Now, granted I did this to help entertain the five-year-old boy I was babysitting; nevertheless, I indulged in the act.

   I am currently on the edge of seventeen, counting down the months until the day that marks my entrance into adulthood. Overall, I am mature and excited to take on the task of “adulting,” but I also feel younger now than ever before – it’s a paradoxical combination.

   I’ve been void of child-like qualities since being exposed to hardships at a tender age. I saw my dad forced to retire from his dream job as a firefighter paramedic, after suffering a traumatizing spinal cord injury; I saw my mom, frustrated at the “real” world (and the 2008 recession), after being laid off multiple times in just a few years. Instead of being a carefree adolescent, I focused on not being a burden on my parents and not failing. Ever. I thought that if I followed all the rules and got stellar grades, I would be rewarded with a pleasant and stable adult life.

   Now back to the Legos. Years ago, if you would have asked me why I enjoyed spending hours following pictorial instructions on how to build sets for my little brother, I would have answered with a comment on how I cherished the order and structure of putting them together. I took my construction very seriously — with a furled brow and clenched jaw – believing that every piece I connected equated with an infinitesimal feeling of accomplishment.

   Now it’s different. Now I know that adversities can plague anybody, and I also know that I’ve sacrificed a lot in thinking that my achievements can prevent any tribulations. Now I’m looking back with developed eyes and am finally appreciating the power of Legos.

   The decisions I am currently making involve selecting where I want to go to college, picking what I want to study, and choosing what I want to do in life. Sitting on the grainy hardwood floor, in between a sea of scattered Lego pieces, the boy I was taking care of asked me to build him a car — a car which I had to invent with no guide. I realized that in this moment, my external issues were worthless. There was only one thing that mattered: deciding what color bricks I wanted to use.

   For those hours, I unleashed my inner child. I built a house on wheels. I built a character who was half Python, half Batman. I built a pair of purple glasses. I even stopped a two-headed dragon from imposing is wrath on the city of Ninjago.

   Finally, I was able to experience some of the missing pieces of my youth – pun entirely intended.