1:30 AM, and I’m trying to sleep, but my eyes are open and my thoughts restless. No, it’s not the late night coffee that’s finally kicked in, but the normal reactions to my preparations for moving to U.A.E…the waiting, the stress, the rush, the anticipation, the goodbyes, the new life, the sadness, the happiness…
Happiness…
That was the last station where my mind waited for the bus to pick it up and take it for a journey to explore that certain word people live and die for…
Happiness.
That’s what I was thinking about as I lay in the bed looking around my barely visible room where everything appeared grainy to my eyes, like a grayscale picture with low resolution.
I had always thought that happiness is shallow, a wonderful euphoria that teaches nothing.
I was wondering when was the last time I felt genuinely happy – it wasn’t too long ago – and that in turn made me try to remember the first time I ever felt it. It didn’t take me long to start to think of my nephew.
Almost everyone familiar with my life’s circumstances knows that I travel to UAE every chance I get to visit my loved ones. And I spend all my free time there with my nephew ever since he was born in 2003.
It never takes much time to gain the friendship of my nephew. Well, that’s not true. It takes no time at all, at least not with me (and I’m sure with some others as well, despite the lonely childhood he’s having). The last time I went there in summer 2007, I stayed for only ten days. One of those days, he got mad at me for something I didn’t do for him. But soon I won him over again and that night – a few hours past his bedtime - he came to “my” room where I was using my laptop. He lay down beside me on the sofa-bed, and started to ask questions about this and that as usual, until he got sleepy. At last, he said:
“Hokkou (Auntie), I’m not upset with you anymore”
I smiled and kissed him on his cheek.
And he continued with his sleepy little voice, “You know, I’m really happy that you’re here…”
And my smile – and heart – broke into million little pieces.
I hugged him and let him fall asleep with his head on my lap, stroking his hair calmly; but there was nothing calm about the tears that were crawling down my face, or the curses I was directing to myself, my fate, my family and God…
What and how did a four year old know about happiness? How could he relate that word to the way he was feeling - not in a certain instant, but during a period of time?! I was a happy child myself, but I don’t remember using that word so early…or even knowing that I actually felt that way.
I see children laugh…I haven’t seen him laugh as much as others do…but he knew when he was happy…he’s able to understand and live words beyond their physical sense.
And he taught me that happiness can be as deep and profound as misery. In the end, they’re both really about what you have, and what you don’t.
Copyright © 2008 Daisy Tchiftjian
Labels: Musings
