sun☀️

If it makes you happy, it was never a waste of time⏳🌸💗

Growing up, I thought everything had to lead to something.

I drew just for grades or money.
I studied to get good results.
I work out to make my body slimmer.
I bake to make something my dad would approve of.
Even my hobbies always needed a purpose.

Because every time I loved something, it somehow became a goal, a responsibility, or a way to achieve something else.

Maybe that’s why drawing started to make me anxious. A blank canvas no longer felt like a playground🎨🖍️

Sometimes, I even felt guilty for resting. As if sleeping too much meant I wasn’t trying hard enough—even though I knew rest was something I needed.💤🫩

And whenever I played games, I couldn’t fully enjoy them because I’d keep thinking about how much time I was wasting on something “unproductive.”🎮🕹️

Lately, I’ve been trying to reconnect with the little girl who drew just because she wanted to, baked because she loved experiment, and tried things simply because they made her happy.

Maybe not everything has to be productive.

Maybe joy is enough of a reason🤍