i miss my primary school playground

I wrote this journal entry in June 2024. It was 6 months into being 22 and 10 days before I graduated. It was also the last two pages of my previous journal — serendipity, as the kids call it.

For the first time, in a long time, I have felt called to share my work with others. We all have beautiful insights into the world. Mine is one of them. I wanted to share this entry I wrote in June, as it best encapsulated where I am currently at. Reflective. Vulnerable. Quietly gaining confidence in my ability. Finally letting myself be.

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Friday 21st June 2024

I think this year — while I’ve found it hard in many ways — has taught me a lot about myself. I am finally ready to listen. I have begun to enjoy parts of myself that have remained dormant for many years. In later adolescence, my unyielding pursuit to not be seen as childish meant that I left behind interests and hobbies that filled my cup. The things that made me crackle and pop! I connected to my inner child in private practice — in paintings, in poems, in songs that no one would ever see or hear. I often reserved my messiness and nonsensical chattery for myself, or a select few.

When I look back at my Pinterest 2024 Vision board, my desire to reconnect with the things that once brought me great joy shines through. But in a way, I am trying to reclaim that euphoric feeling of running up to someone in the playground and giving them something I’ve made. For them to take my gift, with both hands, and thank me with a hug — for them to accept a part of me into their life without hesitation. And when they let other people borrow it, they ask them to be extra careful and proudly announce who made it.

To me, this is my most visceral memory of feeling seen. Love that extends through your fingertips. It is the poems I write, the photographs I take and share with others. Or that email exchange with the kid I became best friends with on the family holiday — because even if there was a language barrier, we just enjoyed each other’s company.

There is something so beautiful and informative about nostalgia. I am nostalgic for beginner’s luck. I am nostalgic for the camaraderie of my primary school classes. I am nostalgic for how paper wrinkles when the paint dries. I am nostalgic for my resourcefulness. My resilience. My self-belief.

Perhaps, it is not all lost. I have spent so long trying to keep the memory of my 5 year old self alive that I forgot she was still living. I am beginning to understand that you can learn a lot from what you are nostalgic about. I am nostalgic for whimsical but meaningful expressions of love — I am no longer interested in being made to feel a fool for wanting to share my thoughts and experiences with others. Slowly, I am returning to myself. While I still do not give myself nearly enough credit, I am getting there.

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In 2025, I have finally begun to let myself be. I’ve given my nervous system time to realise that it is okay to not always say the right words. I can take up space even when I feel awkward, clumsy, “too much” or “not enough”. I deserve to surround myself with people who make me feel understood, and safe enough to feel misunderstood by. Our beautiful ironies and contradictions make us. I am relaxing into the belief that I have something to say, and I am excited to share it — on this little playground of trust.