the child in me

Ever since I started realizing what growing up really feels like, I have tried to take care of myself the best I could. I chose peace, chose quiet, chose to protect my little world - because somewhere deep down, I've always believed peace is everything. And maybe I did okay.

But the other day, something happened. Like a whisper from an old friend I hadn't seen in a while. The child in me peeked out, just for a moment. And I realized - maybe I wasn't just looking after my grown-up self all this time. Maybe I was keeping her happy, too. That little version of me who still believes in magic and laughs without a reason. She never gave up on me. And the truth is, I never stopped carrying her with me.

Sometimes, she shows up when I laugh a little too loud at something silly. Or when I stop to stare at the moon for no reason. She's there when I hum old cartoon songs, or feel proud after neatly organizing my shelf. She still believes that kindness matters. That people can be good. That magic doesn't have to be loud - it can be quiet and simple, like finding a book that understands you or a cat curling up beside you on a tired day. And maybe, without even trying, she keeps me soft in a world that tells us to toughen up. She reminds me that it’s okay to cry, to hope, to dream like no one's watching.

She still shows up, quietly, without warning. Like when I buy candy on a rainy day - not because I need it, but because it reminds me of school tiffin breaks and muddy roads. Or when I catch myself doodling stars and hearts at the corner of a notebook during a boring lecture, just like I used to. She's there when I dance alone in my room to songs only I seem to like, or when I pause for a second just to smile at a butterfly fluttering by. These little things, so small yet so full of her - that child in me who still knows how to find magic in the most ordinary days.

She still believes in handwritten letters, like the ones I used to write to my best friends during long, boring classes. She still dreams about birthday surprises, like the time I made a wish and it quietly came true. She believes that a late-night message from someone you love can fix the worst days. She still thinks people mean it when they say "forever,"  and maybe, somewhere deep inside, I still do too - even if I pretend not to. She hasn't stopped believing that one day, I'll figure it all out. Maybe that's why, even now, I keep writing, dreaming, and hoping - just like her.

The child in me still believes in saving pretty chocolate wrappers. In making random wishes when the clock strikes 11:11, in laughing until my stomach hurts over the smallest, stupidest things. She believes that if you find a really good sunset, you have to tell someone about it - even if it's just a blurry photo in the middle of a busy day.

She's the one who makes me buy notebooks I don't even need. The one who still gets excited seeing fairy lights or bookstores. The one who thinks that maybe, just maybe, magic isn't just in stories- it's in people too. She's why I still smile when someone remembers a small detail about me. Why I still write blogs and pour my heart into them, even when no one asks me to. Why I still find reasons to be soft in a world that sometimes tells you not to be. Maybe growing up didn't mean leaving her behind. Maybe it just meant learning how to walk beside her.

So if I ever meet her again -

I think she'll run up to me with a grin so wide it could light up a whole room. She'll tug on my hand, show me all the little dreams she's still carrying around in her pockets. Some crumpled, some still shiny. Maybe she'll ask, "Did we make it?" And I'll smile and say, "We're trying. And we're doing better than you think." I'll sit with her for a while. Tell her about the days we were scared but kept going anyway. About the people who stayed, and the dreams we grew brave enough to chase. And maybe she'll just laugh, because she always knew we would.

Somewhere between growing up and staying soft, I realized the child in me was never lost - she was just waiting for me to notice her again. If today feels a little heavy, slow down. Maybe the child in you needs a little sunshine today.

so this is life

I recently celebrated Eid. Everyone around me was sharing happy moments with their family and friends. Among them one of my closest friends, Anannya, posted a story with the caption "best day." For some reason, my mind got stuck on those two words. I've written that same caption countless times before- best day.

It's not like those days weren't truly special, or that the ones before them stopped mattering. But every time life takes a gentle turn and smiles at me, I find myself using those same two words again. Maybe that's what life is- a string of moments that feel like the best day, in their own way. 

While growing up, my idea of a 'best day' kept changing. As a kid, I used to think the best days only came once in a while- like a birthday, a picnic, or the last day of exams. If I had the best day today, I believed I'd have to wait another 365 days for the next one. But it turns out, life doesn't work like that. Best days aren't always rare or loud. Sometimes they show up quietly- in small wins, deep laughs, or even peaceful evenings. Maybe it was always like this, or maybe I just started seeing life a little differently.  Everything about my life has changed over the years- except the fact that it's still mine. And maybe that’s what makes it special.

Not all 'best days' look the same. Sometimes it's the day I finally let go of something that's been weighing on my chest for too long. The relief may not feel like joy right away, but it is a kind of peace. Other times, it's a quiet night where I sat with someone I love and had a conversation that felt real - raw, honest, and needed. Or maybe, it was a day when no one was around, and for the first time, that didn't feel lonely. It just felt... peaceful. 

 I realized… best days aren't always loud or picture-perfect. They don't always come with big celebrations or fireworks. Sometimes, they arrive quietly- like a soft breeze you almost miss if you're not paying attention.

There was the day I hit publish on my very first blog post. I had no idea if anyone would read it, but it felt like I finally gave a little piece of myself to the world. That quiet courage? That was a best day.

Or the day I opened my embroidery business page. I was nervous, excited, and full of doubts. But then someone placed the first order. I stared at the screen for a while, smiling like an idiot. It felt like the start of something real. And it was.

Then came the day I stood on stage and received the Vice Chancellor's Award for the first time. My name echoed in the hall, my heart raced - and just like that, I had proof that hard work does bloom. But even then, I remember thinking, 'I want to do better.' Funny how the best days sometimes make you want to grow even more.

And there are the soft days- the ones where I play with Kiko-Kai, or now, Fifi. Just chasing around the room, tiny paws tapping on the floor, silly little things that make the heart full. No big moment, no applause. Just happiness, pure and simple.

And of course, the old kind of best days- the ones that live in comfort. Like spending time with a friend you’ve known for 12 years, laughing about the same old jokes, still finishing each other's sentences. Nothing changes, and that's the best part. We’ve seen life twist and turn, and yet, here we are. That counts as the best day too, doesn't it?

Then there was this one day I gifted myself a little Harry Potter merch- nothing big, just something I'd wanted for a while. I remember holding it, smiling like a kid, feeling like I had just hugged a piece of my childhood. It wasn't on any calendar, but it was the best day.

So maybe 'best days' aren't always about being happy. Sometimes, they're about healing, growing, loving, or just being present. They come in all shapes- loud, quiet, messy, soft. You just have to notice them.

And maybe that's why I remember them all so clearly.

I have this habit of remembering dates- not just the big ones, but even the quiet, ordinary days. A random Thursday when something felt different. A moment I didn't think would matter much but ended up staying with me.

I don't always write them down, but I carry them. And when those dates return, it's like the memory whispers, 'Hey, remember this?'

It makes even regular days feel like something more.

And maybe… today will become one of those 'best days' too.

Not because something big happened, but because I sat down, let my thoughts wander, and wrote all this. Maybe one day, I'll look back at this moment and smile at how I tried to put life into words.

So, if today feels just okay, hold onto it anyway.

You never know- it might become a day your future self counts as a 'best day' too. Cheers!