Shinchan 💗

There are some shows that grow up with you even when you don’t grow out of them. For me, that show is Shinchan. Even today, I watch it on a regular basis sometimes during dinner, sometimes before bed, sometimes when my mind feels heavy and I just need something simple, silly, and real. There is a strange comfort in seeing that little boy run around in his red shirt, messing up everyone’s peace while secretly teaching us how to breathe again. His world is loud, colourful, chaotic, and somehow healing. Maybe that’s why I keep going back to him. He reminds me of a time when life was softer, kinder, and filled with small joys we didn’t have to earn.

What I love the most about Shinchan is the way he carries himself absolutely unbothered, absolutely original. While the rest of us keep adjusting ourselves to fit into expectations, Shinchan fits the world into his own imagination. He laughs from his stomach, throws tantrums like a king, and makes even the smallest moment dramatic. But beneath all the humour, there’s a message: you don’t have to be perfect to be lovable. In fact, being a little messy, a little silly, and a little imperfect is what makes you human. Watching him reminds me that life doesn’t always need to be organized like a timetable. Sometimes, it’s okay to let it be wild, playful, and unpredictable.

And honestly, the lessons I've picked up from this tiny troublemaker are things even adults forget. For one, Shinchan enjoys everything wholeheartedly a snack, a song, a new toy, a festival. When he likes something, he celebrates it. When he’s upset, he expresses it. When he’s curious, he explores it. We live in a world where people get embarrassed to show what they love, but Shinchan shows it loudly. That’s the charm: he doesn’t hide his happiness. He dances in it. From him, I’ve learned to enjoy small things without apology  a cup of chai, a quiet afternoon, a silly joke, or even a lazy morning. Joy doesn’t have to be responsible. Sometimes joy just has to be joy.

I also love how Shinchan treats people without labels. He doesn’t care about someone’s age, status, attitude, or appearance  he simply connects. Whether it’s annoying Kazama, teasing Nene, or melting Hiroshi’s patience, he builds relationships through honesty. No pretending, no trying to impress. Watching him, I’m reminded that relationships grow naturally when we stop performing and start being real. Even the tender moments with Himawari  where he acts protective but also gets scolded  show that love doesn’t need to be perfect or poetic. It just needs to be present.

Another thing I adore is the family dynamic. Misae scolding him, Hiroshi’s tired voice, their tiny apartment, their money struggles, their simple dinners  it all feels familiar, like a home we’ve all lived in at some point. There’s warmth in their chaos. Shinchan shows that families don’t need to be perfect to feel perfect. They just need to show up for each other, even if that means arguing, apologizing, laughing, and trying again the next day. It’s real life wrapped in humour.

And beneath all the comedy, the biggest lesson I take away is this: Don’t let the world steal your spark. Growing up often means losing our natural curiosity, wild imagination, and playful heart. But every time I watch Shinchan, he hands those things back to me like a small child offering you a crayon and saying, “Here, draw something again.” His silly confidence reminds me to walk into life with a little more boldness, a little more freedom, and a little more laughter.

So yes, I still watch Shinchan regularly, and I’m not embarrassed about it. If anything, I’m proud  because he keeps alive the part of me that refuses to grow dull. He lets my inner child breathe, dance, and feel seen. And that, to me, is something worth holding on to.

Thara