Getting younger as you get older.

As my birthday cupcakes will tell you, I turned five this year and not twenty-five.


{cupcakes courtesy of my friend Amar;
photo captured by my friend Billy}

Which is funny, really, because I've sort of regressed in time lately, reminiscing about how things were "back then", traveling back to the days of yesteryears when I was much, much younger...

Days when I used to take more walks, wandering aimlessly for as long as I could outside.

Days when I skipped too much, jumped too high, talked too often, and laughed too loud.

Days when I proudly hummed and whistled everywhere I went, just because I felt like it.

Days when I climbed trees and made up elaborate fantasy worlds in the sandbox and our backyard with my brothers and cousins because I never thought twice about getting hurt or dirty or looking stupid.

Days when I cried when I was sad and never kept anything bottled up inside.

Days when I forgave and forget and moved on because I had the memory of a puppy.

Days when I used to write stories and draw pictures and compose music and created art and never second-guessed my talents or abilities.

These days, I am trying to make time for those very same things -- not so much because I don't want to "act my age" or "grow up", but moreso because as small and silly some of those things may seem to other people, they are giving me an odd but deep sense of comfort, providing me with a way to move forward.

They are reassuring me that, no matter how old my driver's license says I really am, I am still very much that little girl I once was when I was five or six or seven. That I am still that curious child who loved and learned through tasting, hearing, touching, feeling. That I am still that child whose heart and soul were light and free and never afraid or worried. That child who looked at the world with an open mind and even brighter eyes.

It's funny, really, but I honestly think that I am getting younger as I get older, these days.