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when did christmas stop being christmas and just become another day? what happened to my joy and my fuzzy feelings? christmas decorations used to make me excited, but now i dread the effort it takes to put up the tree.
why are the colours in my life less vibrant as how i remember them from my childhood?
where did my dreams go, the ones where i used to fly and meet the hero’s in my life or when i used to dream up new animals or an entirely new world? now my dreams are just dull and bland.
where did my imagination go? my inventive spark? the mud pies and the tree climbing? when was the last time my dad picked me up and put me to bed?
where did my childhood go, and when did it truly leave me?
why are the colours in my life less vibrant as how i remember them from my childhood?
where did my dreams go, the ones where i used to fly and meet the hero’s in my life or when i used to dream up new animals or an entirely new world? now my dreams are just dull and bland.
where did my imagination go? my inventive spark? the mud pies and the tree climbing? when was the last time my dad picked me up and put me to bed?
where did my childhood go, and when did it truly leave me?
Jan 18, 2025
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Nostalgia is so powerful. And so painful.
I’ve made Pinterest boards filled with hundreds of memories and toys and things that shaped my childhood. I’ve made playlists that include only songs that make me feel 6 years old again. I’ve watched movies that bring me the same wonder they did as when I watched them as a child.
But nothing will ever truly bring me back there. It’s gone forever. to know that I will never walk the halls of my elementary school building, or try and plant an apple seed in between the slides of the playground, or play tag with my best buddies ever again is something unbearable. life is so short. I miss it all of the time.
Adulthood has its perks as well. I never have to ask to go sleep over at a friends house and get told no. I can eat what i want. I can get a kitten if I feel like it. But I miss the simplicity and happiness of being a child. I miss just existing and being okay with that. i miss how I felt when I was 6, but I have to accept that I must leave that behind.
Maybe reincarnation is real. Maybe I will live through something like this life again?
There is an ache knowing I will never walk the same tiny footsteps as I once did. But alas, I’ll be 19 years from where I’m at now and miss this age just as much as I do then. The ache will take a new shape. And i will continue living on.
Feb 12, 2025
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🎈Not a rec but here to tell you that I also don’t remember my childhood very well. I once had a conversation where I realized *I* was the weird one for not remembering much. I kind of wondered for a long time what was wrong with me. My memory is pretty bad generally to this day :/
Just putting this here so you feel a little less alone in this. My therapist will also try to get me to remember my child self but I feel pretty removed from her. It kind of sucks, but also I feel like i get glimpses… I recently started using stickers in my journal when I’ve completed a book, and it makes me feel like a child again, but I really love it. Maybe there are glimpses that will come to you, but it’s hard to go looking for them
Just putting this here so you feel a little less alone in this. My therapist will also try to get me to remember my child self but I feel pretty removed from her. It kind of sucks, but also I feel like i get glimpses… I recently started using stickers in my journal when I’ve completed a book, and it makes me feel like a child again, but I really love it. Maybe there are glimpses that will come to you, but it’s hard to go looking for them
Aug 5, 2024
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My Melodramatic Dispatch (Pt. 2 of ?)
TLDR: Summers feel different now.
The older I get… the more I remember: Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek. The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled — fully alive and present. The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making s’mores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying. I remember the musk of the playhouse — getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco — the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful with the plastic. The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens. When they were ripe, we’d go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, we’d pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk. I remember the ice cream truck’s lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat. And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friend’s house — her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover. I remember walking home afterward — full, tired - still in yesterday’s clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer — in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way. There’s a softer anticipation now for this year’s version of it — and a small ache for the ones I’ve already lived. For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs — racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
The older I get… the more I remember: Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek. The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled — fully alive and present. The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making s’mores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying. I remember the musk of the playhouse — getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco — the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful with the plastic. The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens. When they were ripe, we’d go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, we’d pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk. I remember the ice cream truck’s lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat. And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friend’s house — her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover. I remember walking home afterward — full, tired - still in yesterday’s clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer — in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way. There’s a softer anticipation now for this year’s version of it — and a small ache for the ones I’ve already lived. For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs — racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
Jun 25, 2025
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we don’t make jewellery like we used to!! where did the whimsy go!! the uniqueness!! the daintiness!! the literal ethereal feeling that this watch brings!!!!
I CANNOT FIND IT ANYWHEREEEEEE
I CANNOT FIND IT ANYWHEREEEEEE
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