This afternoon, the floor became an airfield.
Ehan sat down with a sheet of paper and the kind of seriousness only children can bring to small things. His fingers worked patiently, folding, pressing, adjusting, beginning again where needed. To anyone else, it may have looked like a child making a paper aeroplane.
But it never feels that small when you watch closely.
There is something sacred in the way children make things. They do not merely fold paper. They give it a future. In their hands, an ordinary sheet begins to carry direction, hope, experiment, and flight. Before the aeroplane has even left the ground, it has already travelled somewhere in the mind.
That is what moved me as I watched him.
Those little hands were not just playing. They were imagining. Measuring. Believing. They were taking something flat and fragile and asking it to become something that could move through the air.
Maybe that is what all of us keep trying to do in life.
We take what is simple, what is available, what is lying quietly before us and we try to shape it into something that can fly.
A child does this naturally. An adult spends years trying to remember how.
And so I keep these moments carefully. Small domestic scenes. Quiet acts of wonder. The unnoticed workshops of childhood. This blog has slowly become a museum for such things, a place where paper aeroplanes are not just paper aeroplanes, but evidence that imagination is still alive in the world.
Today, it lived on the floor, between soft light and folded paper, in the hands of a little boy preparing something for flight.
By the way, did you know that I’m actively writing in malayalam also these days. Find them here. I’ve written a small book as well if you’re into that. If you like listening to stuff, do scroll through the selection of podcasts. If you’ve time, have a look at the visuals I’ve made. Grateful for your moment here. Keep coming back here : )