Each year I wish more and more that I was a kid again. I have good childhood memories, something a lot of people can’t say. I vividly remember playing on the field of my school, making mud pies and playing tag. Schoolground trees lined up in rows promised the sun – I always remember summer time at school. And since this time I knew in my bones that I was going to make it someday – unsure of what exactly, but I knew I was going to do great things. 

 

I mean that in the least arrogant way possible. I’ve learnt there is a difference between arrogance and self-esteem. I’ve also learnt it’s always better to be kind because most people aren’t; there are a lot of sad people in the world who’ve never known anything else; and the people who complain the most are often the ones with the least problems. I like to be aware of the things around me but at the same time, I want to have that dissonance that comes with being a kid.

 

By the time you read this, I will have just had my 20th birthday. This isn’t a quarter-life crisis editorial, I promise. I think I want to go back to being a kid is to escape from the realities in front of me. I see a world plagued by economic, political and ecological destruction and I can’t do a lot about it. My parents will never be able to afford a house and I probably won’t either. My parents bled for me so that I can do the things that I do; I will do the same if I have kids. 

 

After I leave university, I will work for the rest of my life. I like to think I won’t but that’s not realistic. I want to find something meaningful and do my best. And I want to promise myself that my childhood will be as equally good as the future I am walking into. I don’t want to make it in the world’s eyes but in my own. And as I wrap this up I realise how insufferably cheesy I am but I won’t ever be able to shake it off.