Love hate sleep

When I was a kid, I hated sleeping.

It felt like a punishment. Why lie down and close my eyes when there were a hundred things waiting to be done? A pink frilly dress to twirl in, a fresh Jalebi from the street vendor that made my eyes sparkle, or the school’s music competition coming up next week that filled me with butterflies and anticipation. Life was exciting — even the small things were enough to keep me wide awake and buzzing.

Back then, sleep meant missing out.

But somewhere along the way, things shifted. Now, even in the middle of the day, I find myself longing for rest. I romanticize naps. I plan cozy weekends with the same excitement I once reserved for school trips. A blanket, a good series to binge-watch, something delicious to munch on — that’s the new thrill. There’s a strange peace in knowing I don’t have to be anywhere or do anything extraordinary to feel content.

Maybe it’s adulthood. Maybe it’s the burnout we never signed up for. Or maybe it’s just a different kind of joy — not the bright, bouncing kind that comes with childhood, but a softer, slower happiness that comes with allowing yourself to pause.

And honestly? That pause feels just as precious as the pink dress once did.