The Happy Bubble
Why do we sometimes forget to see that we are actually happy?
I am generally perceived as someone who has a sunny personality and a smile perpetually plastered on my face. Bu,t I have my lows too and man they can be low.
It could be a fellow writers brand new, amazing short story and the barely 100 words on my word document that might cause the descent. It could be yet another Facebook post about a happy couple getting engaged and fairly large empty space by my side, pictures of friends at a party, while I sulk at home, lack of company on a day when I’m feeling social. Pictures of people travelling to places I haven’t heard of. A reader’s Instagram feed that makes me feel like an illiterate person.
A phone call to a friend who proceeds chat about their life problems, in no mood to listen to you whining. The pages of the personal dairy filled with sorrows and sadness circa 1999. The empty Happiness Jar, because I couldn’t be bothered to fill it with little bits of happiness. That delayed payment. The missed meditation hour. Lack of sleep. Hormones. All of these and more are things I encounter daily and run the risk of falling into a slump. It is just that easy; a facebook post, an instagram picture, a phone call or an email or the lack of them. Reasons to be in a funk; so frivolous, so many, so legit.
But somewhere, in this barrage of triggers of unhappiness which mostly amount to nothing, how do I forget that I am actually really happy? On some days, ecstatic even. I have friends who love me and are ready to meet me in cranky or happy moods. A freelancing situation that I actually like. Words that are my friends and come to meet me and whisper stories in my ears more often than not. A wallet that may be a little empty, but is full of love and enough money for whatever I need at the time. Peace of mind that in this clutter-filled life is hard to find. The boy maybe missing, but it makes no difference in my current situation, with my busy social calendar, where do I have the time? A mind that thinks and reacts to things around, finds pleasure in the small things, in hugs and kisses, in fairy lights and happy nights. I have it all. One day, as I sat on a friend’s porch on a hot summer evening, staring at the almost full moon, it came rushing to me – You are happy Yashasvi, you really are. Less money, no holiday, no boyfriend, no publishing deals, but what the heck, you are still happy. Do you see it? Do you feel it?
I do! I fucking do!
I am happy and I know it and now I am clapping my hands.
So if you are happy and you know it, clap your hands.