What do you love now, that you hated when you were younger?
I stared at this prompt for a good five minutes, convinced my brain had simply forgotten something.
Then it hit me.
I’ve Been Eighty Since I Was Eight.
That’s the only answer this prompt gave me.
Surely there had to be something.
Bitter gourd? Early mornings? Silence? Staying home? Folding laundry?
Nope.
Maybe that was the answer.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized…
I couldn’t answer this prompt because the things I love today are the very things I loved as a child.
I’ve been suspiciously eighty years old since I was eight.
As a child, I loved hiding in a quiet corner with a notebook, doodling, writing stories, humming old melodies, and creating entire worlds that existed only in my head.
Apparently, my idea of fun has always been… unconventional.
And some things, apparently, never left me.
I still stop to admire butterflies in the garden.
I still collect pretty leaves because… well, someone has to appreciate them.
I still get embarrassingly excited when a rainbow appears, as if the sky made it just for me.
Apparently, I’ve been delightfully easy to please my entire life.
Some people outgrow these little joys.
I seem to have renewed my subscription every year.
I still get ridiculously excited by a blank page.
I can lose track of time while making something with my hands.
The smell of books still deserves its own perfume.
A beautiful sky can stop me mid-sentence.
A handwritten letter still feels more magical than a text message.
Growing up didn’t make me fall in love with these things.
It simply gave me permission to stop apologizing for loving them.
Maybe that’s adulthood.
Not discovering new passions…
But realizing the little “boring” things you loved all along were never boring at all.
Turns out, my younger self wasn’t strange.
She simply knew what made her happy.
Although…
The more I think about it, the less certain I am.
Was I really eighty years old when I was eight…
Or am I still eight at heart?
Because I still stop for butterflies.
I still smile at rainbows.
I still bring home pretty leaves.
I still think clouds tell stories.
I still believe the sky puts on a show just because someone remembered to look up.
Maybe I’ve spent my whole life being an old soul…
With the heart of an eight-year-old.
And honestly?
I hope that never changes.
.
Until the next quiet thought,
—Rajeshwari 🧿💕
© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari
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