How Things Used to Be Different as a Child

"There was a time when our hearts beat to the rhythm of laughter, when even silence felt safe, and the world was soft in ways we didn’t yet know how to name."

 It’s weird, isn’t it?

How when you’re a kid, everything feels… bigger. Not just the trees and the sky, but the feelings. Happiness was loud. So was sadness. Everything was just more alive.

I don’t think I realized it back then, but those small things—like watching cartoons in your school uniform, or running barefoot in the rain, or eating ice cream at the gate before it melted too much—that was life. That was the good stuff.

We didn’t care how we looked. We didn’t care who was watching. We didn’t even know what anxiety meant. We cried when we felt like it. We laughed so hard we couldn’t breathe. We forgave people after ten minutes and shared our food with the same ones we fought with an hour ago.

I miss that. I miss me, from back then.

I didn’t overthink. I didn’t feel pressure to be anything. I just was. Messy, loud, curious, silly. And happy—without needing a reason.

Now? Now I feel like everything has to mean something. Every decision. Every word. Every relationship. Even the joy feels like it has an expiry date sometimes. Like we’re all just waiting for the next shoe to drop.

And honestly? I don’t remember the last time I did something without thinking twice. Or laughed without feeling a little tired after. I miss when things weren’t so heavy. When growing up sounded exciting and not… exhausting.

No one told us that growing up wasn’t just getting taller or older. It’s watching people drift away. It’s knowing you’ll never feel exactly like that summer evening when your whole gang was eating mangoes and the sky was pink and everything felt like it would last forever.

It didn’t.
And I think we’re all just quietly grieving that.

But here’s the thing—sometimes, that little version of us still shows up. Like when we hear an old song and suddenly feel like dancing. Or when we eat something that tastes like childhood. Or when we randomly start laughing with someone we feel safe with.

That part of us? It didn’t die.
It’s just buried under everything else we had to become.

So tonight, don’t try to be strong. Don’t try to have it all figured out. Just… breathe.
Think of that kid you used to be. The one who didn’t care if the drawing was perfect. The one who believed that magic existed. The one who thought love was simple and life was long.

And maybe, for a second, let that kid back in.
Because honestly?
You owe them that.

  "Back then, the world felt bigger, slower, and full of wonder—and maybe the biggest difference now is simply how much we knew how to feel."