Tracing the same route out of my housing estate that I take each day to walk my dog, a chord of wistful yearning disrupts my train of thought. The longing notes of this feeling resonate through me as I notice the barren sidewalks, once sprawling with thorny flowering shrubs, now uprooted as part of the county council’s maintenance of public spaces. I close my eyes, and beneath my lids I am momentarily transported back into a honey-soaked memory of a sun-drenched summer day. I am eight or nine. I’m not really sure, but those are trivial details.Â
Giggles escape my throat as I watch the girls of my neighbourhood concoct “perfumes” from daisies, weeds, and petals plucked off bushes lining the streets opposite our houses. We grind leaves and buds with spoons and sticks — strenuously, with great determination. After all, we plan to knock on every door in the estate in hopes of selling our all-natural fragrances. Perhaps, we’ll earn a few bob to add to the precious piggy bank sitting carefully on a shelf.Â
I open my eyes.Â
I wonder to myself: when was the last time I played outside with my neighbours?Â
This bittersweet thought lands with a quiet ache. I never even realised when it happened that the last time I rang my neighbour’s doorbell and asked her mother if she was free to play outside had already passed.Â
Our childhoods are filled with forgotten last times. The last time you picked up your favourite toy. The last Christmas you believed in Santa Claus. The last time you drew on the driveway with chubby sticks of chalk that crumbled under too much pressure. The last time you felt the thrill of sitting on your dad’s shoulders. The last morning your mom dropped you off at the school gate before you decided it was “cooler” to walk with your friends. Your list may be different from mine, but that underlying feeling of nostalgia is all the same.Â
As a generation, we tend to romanticise childhood. We long for the endless hazy days, waking up at seven in the morning despite already being on summer vacation. Time stretched infinitely, everything was immersed in excitement, and looking back now, we’re suddenly overcome with sadness and heaviness — mourning for how youth felt and the dread of adulting.
Yet, I don’t believe our current lives in 2026 lack the delight or pleasure we associate with our childhoods, and subsequently yearn for. Maybe it’s not that the environment around us has lost its vibrancy, but rather, we’ve grown up and stopped relishing the small joys of life. In its place, we greet the world with resignation when faced with experiences we dismissively label mundane.Â
As kids, we were present, audacious, and curious. Our eyes scoured the surroundings for something to play with, a new friend to bother, any small novelty worth dreaming about later that night. We questioned the world and hungered for answers. Every car ride was an adventure, the time between this sleepover and the next seemed to last for eternity, even mealtime was a game, saving the best bite for last. Maybe you could say nostalgia is not just a sentimental feeling but a quiet desire to rediscover your childhood self, who was brimming with attentiveness. If that is true, then reclaiming what feels lost is easier than we think. All it might require is approaching the present day with the same curiosity — to be engaged with our surroundings, to move at a slower pace, and to allow ourselves to be animated by fascination.Â
Practising a Child-like Wonder
Disturb your normal routine. Take the longer, scenic drive home. Try something random on the menu at a new cafe. Allow yourself those extra few minutes to use a new skincare product, experiment with makeup outside your usual style, or wear something unexpected.Â
Slow it down. The constant juggle of study, exams, and work makes it difficult to focus on the moment, despite feeling more productive while multitasking. For busy university students racing against deadlines and navigating academic calendars crammed with tests, this is easier said than done. Still, your energy is important. We need to learn how to conserve it and centre it on whatever is sitting directly in front of us.Â
When we combine these two ideas — disrupting our routine and slowing down — we’ve already treated our time of day differently, with intention. Imagine sitting down in a new coffee shop instead of rushing out with a paper takeaway cup. You really savour the bitterness of the coffee and the creamy oat milk like it’s the first time. Can you smell the earthy aroma of the beans? Can you feel the warmth spreading through your body? Perhaps you could place the phone face down on the table. Instead of listening to short-form TikToks on loop, replace them with the hum of traffic outside and the conversations happening nearby. Interrupt the comfort you seek digitally and snap out of autopilot for just a moment. How far can your mind wander once these distractions are removed?
As you make your way home, let your thoughts continue to stretch up towards the trees. Where the leaves cast patterned shadows onto the pavement, dappling the concrete with shifting speckles of sunlight. For the first time in a while, your nose notices the breeze carries the scent of petrichor and dried grass, and your ears perk up to the sound of children laughing from the park playground. Nostalgia returns, but this time it’s not in the form of grief for something you can no longer hold. Instead, the feeling is accompanied by a subtle happiness. For the magic of childhood is not lost as we become adults. It lingers in the present moment, waiting to be noticed again — just as mesmerising as the days we spent preparing perfumes made from flowers, grinning with a missing front tooth, and perpetually swinging from the branches of trees.Â