Every day, I find the meaning to happiness.
What makes one happy?
What makes one successful?
What makes one satisfied?
Questions…I still can’t answer for myself.
It’s 4th of July, 2016. I am 30 years old and live in one of the best continents in the world. I regard myself as a writer but truth be told, I don’t write as much as I want to. I don’t even know where to start.
Today, I take my backpack with my laptop and drive away from the apartment I share with my best friend.
She wonders where I’m going and I don’t tell her anything. I drive around the block and go straight to my office, not too far from where I live and take my first cigarette of the day under the heat of sunny Los Angeles.
I drive back to my apartment.
Renu, my best friend asks, “Where did you go?”
“None of your business.”
I see her face turn into a frown.
I can’t help myself. Every time someone tries to help me, I push them away.
I wasted this 3-day weekend sulking, moping around, indecisive.
Renu tells me everything’s going to be okay but I know every time I’m in a funk, I hurt her more. She gets easily affected when I’m down.
I ask her what’s wrong, knowing I’m the reason for her change of mood.
She tells me at first, “Nothing.”
I insist and she cries.
She kneels down in front of me and tells me, I need to help myself.
“You’re the only one who can push yourself. If I try to push you to write, to do what makes you happy, you go into this self-defense mode and you push me away. I want you to be happy at all times. You can’t let yourself feel stuck. Do you want to see a therapist?”
I’ve been to therapy before. It was one of the darkest moments of my life. That was 5 years ago.
It doesn’t cost much to go to therapy especially if you have a good-paying job but it’s still money wasted.
I consider her question thoughtfully and I wonder if I do need to return to therapy.
What makes it so hard to be happy?
When have I become this person?
I used to be a spontaneous 16-year old girl from Bacolod, Philippines.
Now, I’m a statistic.
I am 30 years old — just turned 3 months ago.
Three decades of my life, half of which spent yearning for happiness.
Tell me, is this what life is all about? Is this how it’s supposed to be?
I love cooking. I love writing. I love creating things — draw, build, write a song.
Here I am, stuck in a job that takes away 12 to 14 hours of my time every day.
This is not how I imagined my life to be 15 years ago.
I cook today for the first time in weeks and I didn’t even do it right.
Everytime I cook a meal, Renu tells me how the food is. Does she like it? What’s missing?
“The food is good. It’s a tasty carbonara. But next time, put your heart into it. It’s as if the right ingredients are in it but they’re not together.”
Just like my thoughts…they’re in the right place, but not together.
More than a dozen blogs have come and gone right before my very eyes. I’d like for this one to stay.
If you happen to come across this blog…thank you for stopping by.
If you happen to read my thoughts…I thank you for spending the time.
You may have come across this at the present time or maybe three decades from now, when I’m 60.
Just know that I lived and I tried to constantly do the things that makes me happy.
My name is Pinx Marie. This is my life.