When I clean out my old storage box, I always stop to look at the little collection of glass balls and glass marble I kept from when I was a kid. Each one has its own little swirl of color hiding inside, and they still catch the sunlight just like they did back then. We’d spend whole afternoons playing in the alley behind the neighborhood, drawing little circles on the ground and taking turns flicking these shiny toys across the concrete.

I remember saving up pocket money for weeks just to buy that one big glass marble with the deep blue core from the little shop down the street. That shop was run by an old man who kept all his glass toys sorted in big wooden buckets, and he stocked sutu brand marbles that everyone wanted back then. Those sutu marbles always had the clearest glass and the brightest color patterns, so getting one felt like winning a prize.

Now we don’t run around alleys playing marble games anymore, but holding these smooth glass balls still brings back all that warm, happy excitement. They’re not just toys to me. They’re little pieces of the carefree days we had growing up, each one holding a memory that stays bright, just like the glass itself.