.png)
Playing with the kasing was always considered more of a “boy thing” back then—but honestly, I loved it. And not just because I could spin it really well (which I totally could—haha!). It was one of those games that brought everyone together in the dusty backyard or open lot, a circle drawn on the ground, and the anticipation building with each flick of a wrist.
We played in groups. Each of us would spin our kasing at the same time, and the one whose top stopped first became the taya. The taya's kasing would then be placed in the middle of the circle—vulnerable, exposed—while the rest of us took turns launching ours, aiming directly at the poor thing. The goal? Break it. Smash it to pieces.
And oh, how I hated seeing my kasing break! It wasn’t just a toy—it was a piece of effort, usually carved from guava wood, shaped and sanded just right. Most of us used guava because it was everywhere in our town, and it made the perfect material: sturdy but not too heavy. I'd always ask my dad to make one for me, and he never said no. I can still remember the scent of freshly carved wood and the feeling of pride when I held my new kasing, ready for battle.
Even now, I think if someone handed me a kasing, I could spin it just like I used to. Some things, once learned in childhood, never really leave you.
One of these days, I hope to play it again—this time with my son, and maybe even with his friends. Just to show them what joy a simple spinning top and a dirt-drawn circle can bring.
Comments
Post a Comment