Habits
Leg Godt
Lego has always been a part of my life. A reward, a creation, a story to tell.
My first set of LEGO was from my cousin. He mailed two entire boxes of it from Hong Kong, where he lives, to Shanghai when I was four. He claimed to be “over the age” of playing with toys, so though he had once built a kid-tall giraffe, he passed his childhood memories on to me.
Honestly, I do not remember much of that time, but I do remember the brick that made me fall in love with LEGO. On that 1x2 flat brick, a hamburger and fries are printed on one side, blank the other—probably disassembled from one of the food truck legos, but to a four-year-old kid who was obsessed with food stickers, the brick felt like one of the first 3D things I could possibly build a world from.
Before I turned 5, I was only allowed to play LEGO Duplo, big LEGO for kids to avoid choking hazards, bought by my parents, to help me practice my young hand muscles. Then, in primary school, I moved on to the Friends series, building mansions and cars for LEGO girl figures Andrea, Stephanie, Olivia, Nate, and so on, who live in the “dreamhouse” or go to some amusement park which I build for them. I remember going to a friend’s house and admiring her 41101 LEGO® Friends Heartlake Grand Hotel, and being obsessed with the swimming pool with a dolphin sticker on it. She generously took it off the roof where Olivia was sitting and gave it to me. It became the foundation block of our friendship, and I still have that piece of LEGO to this day. From waterslides on cruises to amusement park swings, I have bought numerous Legos from the series, all funded by my parents as gifts on birthdays, Christmas, and New Year's.
Moving on to middle school, I wanted to challenge myself with more complex LEGO. Having traveled to the US for the first time, while my parents were shopping at the Outlet for Coach bags and Gucci sunglasses, I did not need any company; I was busy digging in the LA Outlet LEGO store, building a house using simple, free, classic LEGO blocks in the playing area. I still remember the taste of the pizza when I rushed through it to get to finishing my “masterpieces”. There, my parents bought me my first-ever Architecture series, San Francisco, and my first-ever Creator series, Parisian Restaurant. The intricate furnishing, the colorful palettes, and the removable three distinct levels of the restaurant were absolutely mindblowing to a 11 years old kid. I built it over the summer, investing my days and nights and enjoying every single second I had with building the vintage architectural structure.
From then on, there was no going back to the Friends series. I started saving up the spare money my mom gives me every week, and also the red packets over Chinese New Year. Month after month of stopping myself from snacking after school, I got my first-ever Idea series, the Treehouse 21318, and the second creator series that cost me over 3000 RMB (around 450 USD), a rollercoaster. The Lego was huge, just enough to match my dedication. It was placed on top of my piano, but still jutted out. Yet the first time the small LEGO cars ran along the track, pride rose onto my chest; after all the efforts in pleasing my parents, getting a good grade, passing the piano grade examinations, winning the awards, and resisting from spending money, the end product was worth it.
With a collection built larger and larger over the years, rarely did any of them escape my mass destruction, which usually started from the inside out. Literally none of the Friends series were left, because in the days when I would be saving up or waiting for a new LEGO, I would innovate on past products. I have built houses using the inside furnishing of three different other Legos and their outside structure, a mix of my cousin’s leftover bricks, and part of the cruise. I built couches, beds, TVs, swimming pools, pianos, and even water slides to make up a dream house where I desire to live, instead of the fake Lego figures. I deliberately select the paintings in their rooms, even choose a color scheme for each, and design a smooth generatrix of what my routine would be every day. From waking up and directly sliding down into the pool to making burgers—that first-ever inspirational brick—in the kitchen from the fridge that’s filled with ice cream, I have built a world I would love to live in.
“You really concentrate…only when you build Legos!” My parents usually exclaim after a long hour session of me building Legos. Ever since I was little, I would make up stories in my mind of the Lego figures’ lives in the house or a totally unrelated one about some princess waking up in a forest and raised by animals, or some cute kid with her sister stealing all of her love from her parents. I was living in my own fantasy world, working at my own pace, ignoring all elements of reality and purely focusing on what was in my hands.
As a classical East Asian kid grown up in a family where I had always been seeking acknowledgement, Legos were my very first physical object where I could grant acknowledgement to myself. I saw it as a prize when I was little, but as I have grown up, I realized how it really wasn’t impossible to buy one, though they are undeniably expensive. It became a way I treat myself after hard times, especially after moving to the US, and a motivation I keep working for as I develop my studies over the years. Lately, I have also come to the realization of the heavy memories it can carry; from stories with my primary school best friend to a dream Italian wishing well where I want to travel to because someone I care about traveled there and had her dreams come true.
Luckily, my dreams came true in the end. At every key point of my life—switching to an international school, having to manage my life, boarding as a 4th-grade kid, getting into a US high school, even college—Lego was present throughout as my way of proving self-worth and self-acknowledgement. After years of hard work, time, and effort, I found myself sometimes in the smokes and ashes of some love affairs or some incredibly harsh exams; but as long as I know I still have my pairs of hand to build and ability to save money from doordashing and buying new clothes, I know everything will be okay, and I will be happy as soon as I get a lego.
“Leg godt”, the Danish for “play well”, is what it means behind its brand.
Thanks to Lego, I have not only played well. I have learned well, grown well, and built well.