When I was five years old, I received a happy birthday balloon on my special day. I was so enchanted with it that I slept with it every night and kept it by my side until it eventually deflated. But that was just the beginning of my attachment to balloons. As I grew older, my fascination with balloons only intensified. I remember bringing home a helium latex balloon from a fair when I was eight years old, admiring its shiny surface and the way it floated in the air. That one balloon sparked a passion in me that grew with every birthday celebration. Each year, my parents would bring back dozens of happy birthday balloons for me, knowing how much joy they brought me. By the time I was eleven, my bedroom was filled with colorful balloons, each with their own unique character and personality. One day, when I was seven years old, I decided to bring a balloon to school with me. It was a risk, since balloons are not allowed in the classroom, but I was so enamored with it that I couldn't bear to leave it behind. I kept the balloon hidden in my backpack during class, only to take it out during recess and play with it to my heart's content. I never outgrew my love for balloons, even as I grew into adulthood. When I moved out at age 20, I brought with me a special balloon that I hug, kiss, watch TV with, feed, and even sleep with. My attachment to balloons might seem strange to others, but to me, they bring so much joy and comfort that I can't imagine life without them.