Night has fallen, and so have I. I close my eyes, allowing my being to revel in the lingering nothingness from which the rest of the world fell away. In my intoxicated state, I was deliriously happy. What did being happy mean, anyway? Happiness can be so simple, and yet, so elusive. If there were one quest human beings relentlessly subjected themselves to, it had to be the pursuit of happiness.
Happiness to me is being able to write, freely. Happiness is being with nature, and losing yourself in its vastness. Happiness is the ineffable joy you feel from being inspired by landscapes so sublime, your being becomes a violin from which paintings pour forth.
Happiness is being able to travel, to go adventuring in places new and unknown. Happiness is being able to surrender yourself to unprecedented experiences, to meet new people and learn of their triumphs and sufferings. Happiness is being able to allow your ideas of living to be constantly challenged and rethought, to discover the beauty and charm of the world that we live in but are too often than not oblivious to in the humdrum of our daily lives.
Happiness is also finding someone who can inexplicably lift your spirits beyond measure, with whom you feel no sense of time or place. Happiness is learning to love someone in his or her entirety. Happiness is being in the presence of those you love. Perhaps, happiness is love?
– Agnes Chew