Childhood for me is holidays in the village, bare feet and scratched knees. We got up early, because the chickens were already singing their song. We ate bread with butter and jam and ran to the river. There I first learned to swim, though, out of fear, because I fell off a raft.
My grandfather taught me to ride a bicycle, and I kept crashing into a plum tree. And I also picked flowers and made "perfumes" from petals and water. We played "school", "shop", "bakery", and I was always the main one.
In the evenings, my mother washed my hair outside, and I sat with a towel on my head like a queen. I loved it when my grandmother baked bread — the smell was so happy that it brought tears of happiness. And also — when they allowed me to fall asleep in my grandmother's stove, it was the warmest place in the house.
Those were the happiest days without Wi-Fi, but with a full heart. And when I get sad — I go back there in my mind. To that world of carefreeness and sunlight. Because childhood is forever our magic.