A Wanderer's Morning

The Sun's rays has never awakened me more. New days always begin with a question of your existence: who are you, and who are you going to be today? But on this particular day, it was 'why'?

There's nothing special about either the question or the way sunshine streams through the white lace curtains hanging by the east windows. That has always been the occurrence on sunny summer mornings. But the question itself on this summer morning led my eyes to the ceiling in a prayer. I have always tried to understand the world by bending into its palms without any further thought or resistance, voicelessly floating amid its reasonings.

Why?

The ceiling doesn't answer and I fade into a trance, mesmerized by the faint lines of cobwebs that face me. It is true then - Time exists even for non-believers. The Clouds fade into the Sky without any warning or any modicum of sound. Men fall and turn into worms that search for more life. And we, the drifters, do not feel all these happening. We float away in time for another tryst with the insignificant unknown.

Morning. Mourning. The thoughts confound me like the silence which only an overcrowded beach can give - populated but most private. I am naked but clothed enough so as not to shame myself. It is blasphemous to reveal Weaknesses but more blasphemous to reveal Truths.

Why?

I get up and fix myself a cup of coffee. Black, bitter, but still with a hint of sweetness even without a pinch of sugar. A new day is before me, a continuation of life. Another chance to be spent walking, dreaming, and just feeling the Earth beneath my bare feet. There is nothing to rectify nor retrace: there shouldn't ever be. The air is there for you to breathe. It cannot hear your confessions; it cannot disparage your guilt.

Why.

And the word hangs on.

The Happy Pill

We look far and wide for that laugh, that warm moment. We scavenge so much that we forget to stop and just survey our surroundings at that precise moment. Happiness happens every minute, everywhere. It is that vision in the eyes of a child, that bundle of joy in every mother's arms.

Happiness is that pink marshmallow that's left of your rocky road scoop, that tiny (seemingly) insignificant detail that sweetly melts in your mouth. Happiness is that sixpence in the pudgy boy's pocket, which he cheerfully gives to a little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar on a cold Christmas day.

It is bobbing for apples and carving pumpkins for the second-grade twins. It is thanksgiving, roast turkey, and the apple pudding grandmama always brings. It is that first time ever to sit on Santa's knees and ask for a bicycle, a doll, or a new baby brother.

Happiness is that quiet smile that wakes you up in the morning, the same smile that tucks you in at night. It is your Winnie the Pooh fleece blanket, your room, your comfort zone. Happiness is the night and its jewels that shines above you. It is the Makati skyline, the hidden lake with the tire swing.

It is that little feather that floats in the breeze but has the effects of a butterfly's wings. Happiness is that light feeling you carry with you as you go to work. It fills you up and gives you that bounce in your stride. Vitamin E could never make your face glow as much.

Happiness is that natural high. So don't look so far. Happiness is just around the corner. In fact, it lives there, there within your heart.