As a kid, I didn’t do things halfway.
If I liked something,
I became completely obsessed with it.
Not casually interested.
Obsessed.
The kind of obsession only children understand
The funny thing about childhood obsessions
is how serious they feel at the time.
You think about them constantly.
Talk about them endlessly.
Build tiny worlds around them.
And somehow,
they become a part of your personality for a while.
Mine was teaching
Not in a normal way.
In a completely committed way.
I didn’t just want to become a teacher someday.
I was already acting like one.
My imaginary classroom
I would gather notebooks, pens, random papers
anything that made it feel real.
I had imaginary students.
Imaginary attendance.
Imaginary lessons.
And I took it very seriously.
I would explain things out loud
even when nobody was listening.
Correct mistakes that didn’t exist.
Repeat lessons dramatically.
Like my entire future depended on it.
Looking back now:
It sounds funny.
A little dramatic.
A little cute.
But also strangely emotional.
Because children don’t fake passion.
When they love something,
they love it honestly.
Without worrying if it’s practical.
Without asking if it’s impressive enough.
The part that stayed
The strange thing is,
I thought it was “just a phase.”
Until I grew up
and realized I still feel happiest
when I’m explaining things to someone.
When someone finally understands something.
When learning becomes easier for them.
And suddenly, that little obsession
doesn’t feel so childish anymore.
Maybe childhood leaves clues
I think the things we obsess over as children
say something important about us.
About what excites us naturally.
About who we are before the world interrupts.
Maybe growing up isn’t about becoming someone completely new.
Maybe it’s about returning
to the parts of yourself
that once felt effortless.
A quiet truth
Sometimes the child version of you
already knew what made you feel alive.
You just spend years trying to hear her clearly again.
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