when we were young

That’s an old picture of my brother and I. That was taken in my dad’s clinic when we lived in Tawau, approximately end of 1996/1997. I was slightly over 4 years old in that.

I miss being a kid. I miss not having to think about where I’m suppose to live next year, how to balance a budget, ‘serious house chores’, that sort of thing.

I miss getting approval from my parents for washing my own plate, despite getting myself all wet in the process. I miss thinking that my German Shepherd was massive in comparison to myself. I miss colouring on the floor, or on the walls, be it inside or out of lines. I miss having those old poetry books with all the pretty illustrations.

I miss so much about being a child, and I wonder why I ever thought growing up was going to be exciting.

When I was younger, the world was possible. You could not tell me that dinosaurs did not exist when I swear I saw one. I would hide behind my parents when we watched X-Files. I would feed stray cats with my dog’s food. I could pick up my dolls and play with my neighbour without fear.

Growing up makes the world a whole lot darker, and made me more suspicious of everything and everyone I have ever come in contact with.

Oh to be young again.

But the growing is inevitable. I just wish I knew how to handle all of this better. Or how to learn to take it step by step. Or how to not overthink everything, though that seems to be my forte.



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