Childhood often feels like a chapter we raced through—flipping pages too fast, eager to grow up, unaware that we were already living the most unfiltered, magical parts of our story.

I think about that version of me often—the bubbly little girl with big eyes and even bigger dreams. The one who wore kikay outfits with unapologetic flair, posing like an AVON model in the middle of our dusty street because, in our small town, that was the dream. And honestly? I owned it. 😂

Back then, everything felt possible. Cardboard boxes became castles. Plastic heels turned us into princesses. A pen and a notebook were enough to start a universe.

But somewhere along the way, as it often happens, imagination began to fade.
Not all at once, no. It slips away quietly—replaced by timetables, to-do lists, social expectations, and that familiar voice that says, “Be realistic.”

We learn about limits. We measure dreams against bills, job titles, and timelines. We grow up. We grow cautious.
And sometimes, we forget.

We forget that we were once fearless. That we once danced without rhythm, sang without caring, drew dreams in the margins of our notebooks and believed in magic without question.

That’s why I keep this photo pinned to my magnet board.
Not just for nostalgia—but for permission.

🧷 A reminder that it’s okay to still dream.
🧷 That reinvention is allowed—even in your thirties, even after disappointments.
🧷 That the girl who once believed she could be anything didn’t disappear. She just got buried beneath layers of survival.

And now, every time I see that young, wide-eyed face looking back at me, I whisper a silent promise:

Because no matter how loud the world gets, no matter how serious life becomes—I want to protect that spark.
That unfiltered joy.
That silly, curious, sparkly version of me who thought the world was wide and waiting.

✨ So here’s to staying curious.
✨ To making space for silliness.
✨ To dreaming anyway—even when it feels inconvenient, even when it doesn’t make sense.

To every grown woman still carrying her childhood self like a secret best friend: I see you.
And I hope you never lose sight of the little girl who once believed you were the adventure.

With love (and a little glitter),
Anj