There was a version of me who knew exactly how to play. She wandered through bookstores without looking for anything in particular. She bought stickers simply because they made her smile. I doodled in the margins of notebooks and believed an ordinary afternoon could become a little adventure if I let it. I’d buy all the shoes and bags I wanted the moment I withdrew my pay. I never asked whether joy was productive. I simply welcomed it. Somewhere along the way, I became very good at being responsible. Being a mom. Being a wife. Orders to pack. Emails to answer. Bills to pay. Deadlines to meet. Groceries to buy. Things to remember. Chores to do. People counting on me. I didn’t decide to become serious overnight. It happened quietly, almost politely. One responsibility arrived, then another, until playfulness slowly stepped aside to make room. One day, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I did something simply because it delighted me. Not because it ...
Magazine x Diary x Atelier