As a child, there was always a sense of “growing up”. Thinking of a time as an adult, and wondering about what my tastes and likes would be in that dreamy future. I remember making a timeline at seven, stepping back, and thinking of what I’d be like in my teens or twenties. Would I like the same books, would I grow bored of the toys and dolls? Later, I’d even wondered if I’d throw away some of the things I adored—an old book, a video game, a soft-hued necklace of beads, sketch pens with scented ink, or a picture postcard with its green meadow and pristine blue sky. As a kid, I’d really liked going shopping…there was the thrill of opening packages with crisp wrapping paper and taking out a shiny new item, whatever it was. Of course, there was also a love of the fantastic, the magical, the surreal, and soft instrumental music. And the colour orange.
Moving on, there was a lot about those times that I remember, clear as a summer day. My childhood self wasn’t really worried about growing up and the changes that were to come, merely curious. Especially when it came to interests and their possible evolution into the strange and (at the time) fascinating world of adulthood.
Looking back, I can still feel the anticipation of that little girl. The one who liked glitter and fantasy, the girl who liked to lose herself in her favourite game or book.
And frankly, she’s still here.
I don’t know how much someone changes from childhood to adulthood, but for me, interests remain as pristine as they were in my girlhood. I still love books with magic and fantasy, science fiction, and yes, scented ink. I’ve kept most of my toys, and they make an appearance where I can see them every now and then, even as I type this little piece. Packages are still immensely exciting—the crackling of plastic, the rip of wrapping paper, the discovery of something within a box. I’m very fond of video games, as much now as I was then, and they remain, along with reading, my favourite routes of escape. Paintings and beautiful artwork never fail to capture my imagination.
I suppose time flies, circumstances change. There’s the bustle of adulthood—working, meeting new friends, focussing on career goals, maintaining a steady income. Trying to be happy at a job. The frustrations of life’s stumbling blocks, the cheer of its stepping stones.
Then again, deep down, the person before is still the person now. Not set in stone, perhaps, but the essence of that child who made a timeline and dreamt of it still dreams of what she’d like and what book she’d read. A little magic in the world of chaos, the mundane, the exasperating and the plain. A sprinkle of faery dust in a hectic, headache-inducing, stress-filled day.
And yes, I still love the colour orange.