Happiness!

I am happy, let me confess. Not exuberant perhaps but definitely cheerful. Happiness is a beautiful trait. You feel good and nice in your belly when you are happy. Yet I cannot claim to be perfect just because I am happy. Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections. A cute angel whispered in my dream a couple of nights back,” Show me that you are happy”. I had a huge grin on my face when I got up the next morning. The influential German philosopher Nietzsche, once famously wrote: "Pardon me, my friends, I have ventured to paint my happiness on the wall."

I don’t want to sound cynical here. I’ve waded through a particularly rough patch recently. A freaky car accident, followed by bouts of recurring sickness and other little complicacies happened to me in quick succession. I’m glad I’ve a great support system, which I can always fall back on when I’m lying low. Then I’ve my angel. It gently chastises me – when I appear meek -- only to strengthen me as an individual. With so much love it gets easier to cut through - heavy, thick, suffocating, woeful layers of darkness.

I wonder why does it feel heavier at times. Why does life feel like a mini dream in a siesta or a prolonged nightmare? Why do my independence, tastes, indulgences, quirkiness and the “so-called” emotional intelligence seem like a threat? Why does the heart want to break free and yell, where no one can listen to the lovelorn hollering? Why does a genuine chunk of your emotions seem like the third act of a boring English play? Why do I feel like to plunge into the unknown and pray that I swim and not sink!

Often enough, melancholy hovers like a giddy butterfly around our left ear. Many things – visible and invisible -- conspire to make us feel gloomy, down, sick, and endlessly hapless. That is when you need angels. They kiss your tears away. They quietly take your hand. They kick your butt. They make you smile. By their little words and magical touch. They tickle your eardrums by the high pitch of their innocent voice. They make you realize that happiness is infact a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down peacefully, may alight upon you.

Samy