A letter to happiness

 

At the end of the year I’d tell myself to write down the blessings I wanted to come my way and bury the experiences I lived. Every time I’d trouble myself trying to write more than three aspirations, ‘cause after wishing relentlessly for my happiness, and asking for my family’s blessing, I didn’t know what would feed my soul. I became accustomed to the shifting presence of happiness in my life, I wouldn’t beg her to stay when she came; I would enjoy every minute of it. From running to the living room when I heard my dad open the front door, to the first time I saw him leave my side. Every time he’d visit, I made sure to stop, and without letting anybody else see me, I would close my eyes and breathe deeply to capture New York’s scent in my parent’s room. I would close my eyes and think of how everyone felt when I was happy. Even now when I want to feel happy, I close my eyes and let my mind wander to the times when she was here, and he would hug me and my mom would smile, and my sister wasn’t crying, and we weren’t alone.