When I was a young girl, someone told me that love shouldn’t be a burden to anyone. But it made me curious whenever I see my mother’s tears, and my father’s frown. It was one of the things that made me question some commonplace knowledge, because love was such a foreign word to me even when I was nothing but a small child. I needed to see something before I can believe it.
Then came the (word) happiness, it was vague and so easily misunderstood. Another foreign word to add to my growing list of words I’ve yet to understand. I was told that I am happy whenever I laugh, whenever I smile. But why is there an emptiness right after every laughter, and there were so many distorted smiling faces. It made me question a lot of things, and it made me wary of smiling people.
Now, sadness, I am quite familiar with. It was unexplainable, but it was something that came natural to my own person. It was like meeting an old friend and cuddling in an empty room. It was cold, but somewhat warm as well. It was something I could deal with because it was the only thing I understand.
I saw anger as something I’d rather not feel, it was destructive and it introduced me to fear. It was the words that were flung to me whenever I made a mistake; it was something I often see from my father’s eyes. Back then, the only companion I had was the constant fear of being not good enough. But every now and then, I embrace sadness and fear as I look back at my own reflection. It was strangely comforting, because unlike happiness, it won’t leave me disappointed.
Growing up, I realized that somedays are not meant to be lived. Some are just meant to pass by, it was enough to survive. Then I began counting days like I’ve counted the time, taken for granted because it was inconsequential. It was hard to know if the days passed me by, or if I passed them myself. It wasn’t hard to see that I was just probably trying to live; I didn’t have the time to have a life.
Resentment greeted me like an old friend, like some phantom pain from an old wound. There wasn’t even a scar to prove the point, just a faint memory with strong feelings. It was the day I learned that despite what parents tell you, they do play favorites.
Contentment often rhymed with happiness, I learned. While it wasn’t a jolly feeling, it was something concrete enough for me. It was enough to make me believe that I too, am capable of happiness. Given, it wasn’t some boisterous laughter and sunny smile, but I take what I can. This world isn’t really as generous as I thought it would be, not even for a lost child.
The thing with sadness is that it grew up with me, some way or another, it became melancholy. Or I became melancholic. Either way, it wasn’t just a simple snap feeling of being sad. It was something that I learned to live with, sometimes it’s a handicap, but mostly, it keeps me grounded.
*The problem with these words is that they are often relative. *No two persons have the same definition, but there is a general idea behind them that people tend to agree with. And it doesn’t help that people don’t often mean what they say, or that we are fumbling with words to say what we mean. *Isn’t it ironic, thousands and thousands of words and we’re often misunderstood.