Well, are you?
“Are you happy?” This has become my question of choice lately. Is the fact that I even have a question of choice a weird thing? It probably is, huh?
It’s become my question of choice because I am not. I am not happy. I haven’t been for a while now. I’d become content with my unhappiness. Convinced myself that this is who I am. Told myself that for all the genuinely happy people in the world, there needs to be people like me. People who’ve seen happiness. Experienced it, but only in moments. Fleeting moments. These moments, these sweet moments of ecstacy, are outweighed by the large doses of sorrow that the world prescribes to us. Do you know what that’s like? When every low feels more desperate than the one that came before it? When, no matter how hard you try, the stench of dejection and misery accompanies you everywhere you go?
I am content with my unhappiness no longer. You see, late last year, I finally had my fleeting moments of happiness. Brief as they were, these moments were so, so good. The desperate lows were replaced with soaring highs. The familiar feelings of despair redressed by foreign feelings of elation and satisfaction. Brief as they were, these moments lasted long enough for me to know that I want more of them. I want the moments of happiness to become a fixture in my life. I want these moments everyday, all the time. I want to be happy.
So when I ask “Are you happy?” – I ask in the hopes that your answer will be a resounding yes. I haven’t found my happiness yet, so I ask hoping that your reasons for being happy will bring me some kind of joy. I ask in the hopes that your being happy will somehow make me happy too. I guess in some weird way, it’s me trying to live vicariously through you.
And so I ask thee once more – Are you happy?
(Please say yes)