The following piece is — sometimes — taken out of my daily journal. Journal, not diary, because in my imbecile humble opinion, diary is only for middle schoolers. Thanks.
This comes in my mind when i Iaid eyes on a tiny writing piece on *drum roll* tumblr. The post is entitled something along the lines of ‘what small thing that makes your heart ripples’ followed by the list of what makes people happy, effortlessly:
Walking a dog passed a church whose choir is practice singing.
Watching television next to *snoring* loving grandmother
Peeling a mandarine
Grocery shopping with friends
Putting on favorite socks before bed
Blurry photos you took accidentally that turned out aesthetically pleasing.
God, I love people of tumblr. Most certainly sure they are the happiest people on earth for not needing a significant thing to be happy. But then I asked myself the same thing, do I need a significant thing to be happy? What thing?What significant thing?
The plausible and most naïve answer is money.
But I’d say, it’s people.
I realized that I weigh down my happiness on person. On other people. When was the last time I’m happy without doing anything for other people? When was the last time I’m smiling not because others do as well? why I based my happiness on another human being? And when the person is no longer there, it immediately gone with them. Have the saying ‘happiness is real when it shared’ brainwashed my head? Happiness do real when it shared, but sharing is not the same thing as entirely giving. When i share happiness, I do not take it out and handed them all until I got nothing left.
Even in the proudest moment of my life, I’d feel empty if others don’t feel proud of me. What’s that called? Validation? And since when this possessed my life so much so that I don’t feel happy for just being myself and doing it for myself only? since when this life is a Colosseum, and i’m the gladiator, challenging a mountain lion, putting up a show to please gods and kings?
So now, i’m sitting here, typing, don’t bother to shower, listing small things that make me happy:
Passing the bakery and smell their freshly baked cookies and cake
The sound of my keyboard, typing
Twitter memes
A perfectly eyecat liner I made
Post workout feelings…and the hot shower afterwards
The sound of knife on a chopping board, dicing vegetables.
Driving by the river in the evening
Candle light shines dimly
A perfect poached egg in a bowl of hot indomie
The pain around my wrist when I’m handwriting
My dad’s dry jokes
Spotify reshuffling a good song for me
Magenta sky over the roof and how the sun slides into nothingness.
When I write a perfectly beautiful metaphor (cause I’m good at it)
Marvel movie opening scenes (this excites me for god knows why)
The relief after I pray
My friends laugh to death over my dirty jokes
Looking outside the window in a coffee shop
And…myself.
I’m happy of myself.
