Maturing. It sneaks in like a scent with every inch you grow, and by the time you catch a whiff of it, it’s already been there, lodged in some rarely visited corner you’ve always never cared to look. Suddenly, you begin to pay attention to all those minuscule details that you were accustomed to brushing off with a casual wave of thought.

Remember how we used to play in the rain, without fear of getting ill. Remember making rain angels, although failing terribly because they would never last long enough. Remember refusing to sit out pickup basketball games albeit injured. Remember doing practically nothing everyday, but feeling like we were living it up.

Then we grew up. We fell sick, or we had clothes that were too expensive, or we didn’t want a serious injury, and time became too valuable. We became scared.

Sometimes it’s perfectly fine to return to that. No, it’s not childish, even though we’ve been told otherwise. It’s being brave.

Hang in there. It always passes. Always.