Imaginary Friends

Have you ever wondered why so many children have imaginary friends? These invisible companions often seem to understand us better than anyone else, providing comfort, courage, and advice. As I reflect on this event, a thought occurred to me: What if these imaginary friends were not just creations of our imagination but representations of our hidden selves? The more sensible, braver, and wiser parts of us that we instinctively turn to for guidance.

As children, we created these friends to navigate the complexities of growing up, seeking solace in their company when the world felt overwhelming. But perhaps, in reality, we were tapping into an inner strength, a part of ourselves that we could not yet fully understand or articulate. This hidden self, masked as an imaginary friend, was there to support us, encourage us, and help us make sense of the world. Has everyone had e imaginary friend when they were kids?

As kids, when we felt sad and went outside to play with our imaginary friends, we were actually spending time with our happier selves. Those playful moments were a glimpse into the joy that our hidden selves held within. Similarly, when we sought validation from others, wanting them to recognize our abilities, it was our inner selves whispering words of encouragement. Deep down, they know us better than anyone else, understanding every part of our being.

Imagine a rainy day, and a child stands outside, captivated by the gentle sound of raindrops. They spot a puddle nearby and their eyes light up with joy at the idea of playing in the water. However, a brief worry crosses their mind—will Mom get upset if they get wet and muddy? Despite their strong desire to jump into the puddle, they hesitate, turning to their imaginary friend for advice. In reality, they're consulting their inner wisdom, torn between what they want and what their parents expect. Childhood often means having few options; even if the imaginary friend encourages them to jump, some rules may stop them.

As we get older, when everything feels tough, we often find our inner selves becoming our best buddies. We lean on them for comfort, strength, and happiness. Remember when we were kids and couldn't splash in puddles because of our parents' rules? Now, even if we can, we might miss those old rules. It's like our inner selves grow up with us and sometimes crave the safety and guidance we used to get from our parents.

I remember when I was the kind of girl who cried over little things that bothered me. But as I got older, I transformed into someone who laughs and talks a lot, appearing much happier. That little girl who once struggled to find joy now smiles brightly whenever she sees dogs on her way home. It's like my inner self grew alongside me, showing me how to find happiness in the simple things.

When I was a kid, I adored chocolates more than anything else in the world. Whether Mom went out alone or took me along, I'd always beg for chocolates. But as I grew older, I stopped craving them as much. Even if I had the money, I wouldn't buy them like I used to. Back then, just a small chocolate bar could make me the happiest little girl. Maybe it changed because of all the things that went wrong. I started feeling like I was to blame for everything going off-track like I didn't deserve chocolates anymore.

During my journey of healing, my inner self became my closest companion. It was like having a best friend who was always there to comfort and encourage me. This inner voice reassured me that it's okay to make mistakes and learn from them. Whenever I achieved something, like getting good grades on a test or doing something kind, I'd hear a voice inside saying, "I'm proud of you."

As we grow up, we find ourselves with more freedom than we ever had as kids. When we need comfort or advice, we turn to our imaginary friends or our inner selves before seeking help from others. It's like having a buddy who's always on our side, ready to support us no matter what. We create these imaginary friends because we know they'll agree with us, listen to us, and follow us wherever we go. Later, when we're out in the real world and feeling lost or overwhelmed, it's this friend who helps us find our way back home. because deep down we know where we belong.

Remember those rules we used to hate as kids? We wanted to break free from them, but looking back, they actually helped shape the soul of our inner selves, the ones we once called our imaginary friends. It's like having two sides to ourselves: one is the reckless, adventurous one, and the other is the wiser, kinder one. 

As I journey through life, I discover something remarkable: my imaginary friend was actually my other self all along. That person I confided in, the one who offered me advice and comfort, was a part of me I didn't fully understand.

My life becomes a story of two selves becoming the best of friends. I realized that the imaginary friend I considered close to me was actually my other self—the sensible, braver one.

In moments of uncertainty, I turn to this inner self for guidance, finding solace in its wisdom and strength. This hidden companion, once considered separate from me, becomes my most trusted confidant.

So, the next time I feel lost or overwhelmed, I remember that my imaginary friend is not just a figment of my imagination. It's a reflection of the deep connection I have with myself. I embrace this friendship, for the greatest friend I'll ever have is the one within me.

 If you have come this far, I want to tell you, talk to yourself. You know more than you know. Your best friend is probably hidden inside of you.

Revival of the Familiarity

Have you ever noticed how certain things from your past reappear in your life unexpectedly, whether it's an old hobby, a favorite book, or even a relationship, often in a different form or through new experiences? Reflecting on my journey, I realize that these recurring passions and interests have significantly influenced who I am today.  I've always heard that certain things have a way of finding their way back to you, even after being lost for a significant amount of time. Perhaps it's simply the nature of time.

As a child, I spent countless hours painting, immersed in vibrant colors and creative freedom. However, as I grew older, life took over, and my paintbrushes were replaced by textbooks and career goals. Years later, during the chaotic times of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, I felt drawn back to painting, rediscovering the joy and peace it once brought me.

My taste in music has also evolved over the years. In my teenage years, I was a punk rock fan, but by my twenties, I had shifted to enjoying the smooth sounds of jazz. One evening, I found an old playlist and began singing along to the punk songs that once defined my youth. It felt like reconnecting with a part of my past, linking who I was then with who I am now.

Growing up, I was always afraid of being found out. I wasn't sure what I was hiding—perhaps my whole self. Later, I realized that the more I tried to hide, the more visible I became to others. It was both annoying and comforting, like there was someone who needed me, even if I didn't understand why at the time. This experience taught me that sometimes, what we try to conceal the most ends up being the most apparent, and it often returns to us in unexpected ways, shaping our journey in profound ways.

Most of our childhood memories aren't stored in photos but in sensory experiences—certain biscuits, the light of different times of day, familiar smells, and the textures of carpet. If I had a time machine when I was younger, I would probably visit my older self. I would see myself and wonder if I still love chocolates more than life itself or if I still cry over the slightest arguments. I would probably also wonder if I'm still terrified of animals. I used to be terrified of animals, but now I love them dearly. The tables have turned; I can't imagine my life without them. It's like I've been around pets for so long that I can't remember what life was like without them.

As I grow older, I've come to realize that some things are just not the same anymore. Places that once felt like home could no longer contain my ambition. While I still have love for certain people, I've learned that not everyone wants the same things as I do. I've come to understand that I don't have to shrink myself to fit into places I have outgrown. Life is not meant to be lived in one area; it's about embracing change and growth, even if it means moving beyond familiar surroundings.

I still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn't satisfy me as much as it used to. Similarly, I still long for summer, but sometimes it's the summer of five years ago that I miss. We revisit old feelings for the same reason we re-read books—there's comfort in familiar words, even though we know the endings. Over time, our preferences shift, yet certain things remain constant. For instance, I still love lemonade, but now it's the kind from a small shop outside my university. It reminds me of the time when my mother used to make lemonade for me to take to school. And though my love for summer remains, it's now intertwined with memories of enjoying ice cream with my friends.

As I said, some things come back. Love, for instance; may not be in the same form, not in the same person, but it does come back. At the end of the day, love is never wasted. Loving and caring are never mistakes because love is infinite. I won't run out of love by pursuing what inspires me to risk my heart or by investing in people and things that open me up. Love always returns, though it may come back in a different form, through different people, or in the time I spend engaging with the world. It always does. The concept of 'home' was different for me when I was little. At that time, the home was where I lived, slept, and ate. Now, it's just another person.

There's a special kind of connection where a person becomes someone's home. It's not about a physical space but about finding comfort and belonging in someone's presence. They are the warmth that wraps around you, the refuge from the world's chaos. In their eyes, one can see acceptance, and in their arms, find peace. With them, you are anchored, safe, and truly at home, no matter where you are—just like the same old feeling I used to get when I returned home from school.

My mother and my first pet, Lussu, shared a unique bond. Lussu would only eat when my mother was at home, showing a preference for her over anyone else. The depth of affection in Lussu's gaze towards my mother often made me wonder what it would be like to receive such profound love from such a small creature. Over time, I no longer need to wonder about this question. Kiko-Kai now loves me with the same intensity. When I look into their eyes, I witness the same unwavering love that Lussu had for my mother three years ago. It feels as though this love has returned, presenting itself in a different yet wonderfully familiar form.

As a child, I found comfort in writing in my diary, pouring out my thoughts, fears, and dreams onto its pages. However, as life became busier during my sixth standard, I drifted away from this practice. Years later, I rediscovered the joy of expression through writing, this time in the form of blogs. Although the medium and language have shifted—my childhood diary entries were in Bengali—the essence remains the same. Through my blogs, I continue to explore my innermost thoughts and emotions, although in a new platform and language. It's evidence of the timeless nature of self-expression and the evolution of personal tales across different stages of life.

As I reflect on these memories, I'm reminded of how life comes full circle. Just like old hobbies and interests return, so do the feelings and bonds that shape us. Whether we're revisiting the past or embracing the present, our journey is a mix of nostalgia and growth. To anyone reading this, I hope these words bring comfort. I hope I've made things a little easier for someone.