<p align="justify">Sometimes, the things we can’t change end up changing us. Childhood is like a favourite season which is transient, yet transcendental. I remember playing in the mud, learning to cycle on rented, dented bicycles, getting wet in the rain and listening to the same stories again and again from our grandparents and parents.<br /><br />I particularly remember racing paper boats in the smalls drains that would swell with the rains. The fact that nature would eventually take its course and that our boats would sooner or later become pulp did not faze us. So much did we live in the moment that eventuality and consequences meant nothing to us. The sense of wonder, awe and possibility pervaded, and insentiently we learnt so much about life and living through these unsupervised jaunts.</p>.<p align="justify"><br />But seasons change, and so do we. Often I would find myself nostalgic, wishing for those carefree days for my children too. Maybe I secretly desired to live my childhood vicariously. But the childhood I dreamt about was lost in phones, video games, iPads, and the million TV channels that entice more than the craggy outdoors. Or so it seemed.<br /><br />My younger daughter got an assignment from school that required her to make boats of different materials and test their durability and adaptability. I all but jumped at this chance to recreate scenarios from my memory; however, imagine my horror when I pleated and creased paper again and again to find that I could not remember how to make a paper boat. I felt mortified as my daughter sat looking expectantly at me. <br /><br />But then, help came from an unexpected quarter; technology came to my rescue! I quickly found myself opening YouTube and searching for a video on how to make boats. In no time I had made a paper boat for my daughter. It was truly delightful, and as we floated these boats in buckets of water, we laughed and cheered. I felt the wonderful memories flood my home. Life inevitably throws us curveballs; the marvels of daily life are exciting.<br /><br />No one can plan for the unexpected that can transpire in our own home. I’ve come to understand these curveballs are beautiful reminders that the past, present and future are linked and have no meaning without each other. <br /><br />I understood then that my quandary was that I hated change and loved it at the same time; what I really wanted was for things to remain the same, yet get better.<br /><br />This cannot happen. Just like a butterfly cannot shed its wings and go back to the cocoon, our past must stay where it belongs, and the present should take wings. In that moment, I finally grasped that my children will make their own memories, which might not be exactly like mine, but would be precious all the same. Their experiences will inspire the same wonder and awe that I once experienced as a child. And one day, life will give them a chance to share this delight with their children in some unexpected moment.</p>
<p align="justify">Sometimes, the things we can’t change end up changing us. Childhood is like a favourite season which is transient, yet transcendental. I remember playing in the mud, learning to cycle on rented, dented bicycles, getting wet in the rain and listening to the same stories again and again from our grandparents and parents.<br /><br />I particularly remember racing paper boats in the smalls drains that would swell with the rains. The fact that nature would eventually take its course and that our boats would sooner or later become pulp did not faze us. So much did we live in the moment that eventuality and consequences meant nothing to us. The sense of wonder, awe and possibility pervaded, and insentiently we learnt so much about life and living through these unsupervised jaunts.</p>.<p align="justify"><br />But seasons change, and so do we. Often I would find myself nostalgic, wishing for those carefree days for my children too. Maybe I secretly desired to live my childhood vicariously. But the childhood I dreamt about was lost in phones, video games, iPads, and the million TV channels that entice more than the craggy outdoors. Or so it seemed.<br /><br />My younger daughter got an assignment from school that required her to make boats of different materials and test their durability and adaptability. I all but jumped at this chance to recreate scenarios from my memory; however, imagine my horror when I pleated and creased paper again and again to find that I could not remember how to make a paper boat. I felt mortified as my daughter sat looking expectantly at me. <br /><br />But then, help came from an unexpected quarter; technology came to my rescue! I quickly found myself opening YouTube and searching for a video on how to make boats. In no time I had made a paper boat for my daughter. It was truly delightful, and as we floated these boats in buckets of water, we laughed and cheered. I felt the wonderful memories flood my home. Life inevitably throws us curveballs; the marvels of daily life are exciting.<br /><br />No one can plan for the unexpected that can transpire in our own home. I’ve come to understand these curveballs are beautiful reminders that the past, present and future are linked and have no meaning without each other. <br /><br />I understood then that my quandary was that I hated change and loved it at the same time; what I really wanted was for things to remain the same, yet get better.<br /><br />This cannot happen. Just like a butterfly cannot shed its wings and go back to the cocoon, our past must stay where it belongs, and the present should take wings. In that moment, I finally grasped that my children will make their own memories, which might not be exactly like mine, but would be precious all the same. Their experiences will inspire the same wonder and awe that I once experienced as a child. And one day, life will give them a chance to share this delight with their children in some unexpected moment.</p>