Once, I used to sit in front of the TV, eagerly waiting for a new episode of cartoons.
They felt like a whole universe where everything was simpler: good always won, friendship always saved the day, and heroes never grew old.
But time passes. I grow older, and the world becomes more complicated.
Cartoons remain a warm memory of childhood, yet my heart is drawn more and more toward anime.
There’s more depth in it, more emotions — joy, pain, loss, struggle.
Sometimes it feels like these stories understand me better than the people around me.
I’ve already watched dozens of titles, and each one has left a small trace behind.
Nostalgia for childhood lives within me, but it’s anime that teaches me to accept adulthood.
Maybe that’s the magic of it: cartoons gave me dreams, while anime made me truly feel them.