When I was little, I used to blow soap-bubbles in the summer. You know, dipping a stick (with a round ending) in soap-suds and then blowing on it and seeing bubbles appear, floating away towards the big sky, higher and higher.

I was never like everyone else. While the other children were jumping up and down, trying to pierce as much bubbles as possible, I was the one fighting for justice. I defended as much bubbles as possible against the destroying fingers of the 'destroyers'. Mostly in vain. I was able to save one of them, though. One of them I could rescue by taking it carefully and putting it in my pocket. Once home, I took this fragile little soap-bubble out of my vest and locked it a way carefully in a small box.

That little box with the bubble in it is still on my pedestal cupboard. And as long as Teddy and I are watching over it, that bubble will never burst.