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.