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What makes me happy?
Ask me this 5 years ago and I would’ve told you about having my mom’s homemade fish ball soup on a cold night.
I was never big on focusing on what makes me happy when I was younger; why would I? Everything I liked made me happy, that counts right? I know happiness differs for everyone. And it’s never always verbal.
I remember my mom’s lips pertaining into a soft smile whenever my dad would be boisterous when reading me bedtime stories. When I asked her why she would only watch my dad as she tucked me in, she smiled and kissed my forehead. “Watching your dad be as joyful as he can get as he tells you story after story makes me incredibly happy,” she said. Since then, I’ve always noticed how people would react with what makes them happy. Some people loved how the morning warmth of the sun on a winter’s day would wake them up. Maybe how the soft footsteps of their pets trot after them, how dogs yipped and wagged their tails when they see their owner come home from work or school.
I know people loved going out before a heavy shower of rain, with dark storm clouds dressing the sky. The wind warning people of a heavy shower would chill their bones but the smile and content on their face would make it seem as if it was worth it. Or maybe after it has rained, when the surrounding smells metallic and ozone, and when little kids eagerly jump into puddles of water as they squeal with joy.
I notice how people sigh with ease as they open a new book and run their hands over crisp new pages, the smell of the pages wafting and carrying them into new worlds.
I know happiness differs from person to person. It could be verbal, non-verbal; whisper of touches or full on strings of words.
But when it comes to you , I could never pinpoint why you make me happy.
The first time we met, you were full of snarky remarks and glinted eyes. I wanted to punch you, but I guess you were used to eliciting that sort of reaction from people.
You didn’t care about making a bad impression, you just wanted to make an impression. You definitely did, with your ‘Man you’re so tall, built like a giraffe.’ But it made me crack a smile. The way your hands felt complete in mine as we shared a handshake never really left my mind. Was that the stepping stone to me connecting happiness to your being?
Maybe it was how I’d imagine waking up next to you, cotton candy bed hair pressed against the pillow, your chest heaving up and down gently. I did get to experience that later, however, and it was just as whimsical as my imagination told me.
Maybe it was when I’d cleanly block the opponent’s spike, the ball dropping to their side of the net with a thud, and we screamed in joy. My eyes locked with yours as we went in for a high five, your spindly fingers lacing my own.
Maybe it was when your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed when I told you I liked you in our third year. The way you sheepishly laughed, red face in hands as you quietly accepted my confession will always be something I replay in my head day after day.
Perhaps it was when I woke up everyday to see your sleepy smile as you turned to face me to mouth a ‘good morning’, ruffling my already disheveled hair. Or, the way you hum a tune as you work magic in the kitchen and scold me for poking my fingers in the pot to taste whatever you decided was to be our meal that day, pushing me aside after a chaste yet loving kiss.
Maybe it was when your eyes lit up as we walked by the cafe as you scanned for profiteroles, and how you’d groan when they ran out of stock. The cafe workers loved you, you were always so nice to them and still bought pastries when they ran out of your favourites (Although rarely the case, they’d always save you some).
Or when you’d get extremely passionate about the things you like, pulling out proof and research from who knows where to prove me wrong. What you didn’t know is that I loved riling you up just to see you get passionate about everything, mouth running and eyebrows furrowed when you realize what I did.
It is possible that it was when we would argue, be it over something incredibly dumb or incredibly hurting. You’d sit us down, corners of your beautiful eyes tinted red from crying as you tell me you don’t want us to end over a stupid argument.
I’d hold you tight, soothing your sobs knowing I don’t want to lose you too. The way you’d mumble these three words over and over as if it was a mantra, grounding you from escaping into whatever thoughts you were having. It could have been when you opened up to me about your insecurities, about how you’re scared of failing when you’ve set high expectations for yourself, and how you don’t want to crash and burn.
The amount of trust you had to confide in me makes me swell with pride. I'll always be honoured you chose to tell me about how you were feeling even before we got together.
I guess, looking at you, being by your side at every microsecond, makes me so fortunate to be living. From your smile to your furrowed brows to your puckered lips to your softest, sweetest smile, I’ll never get bored of it.
I could write a thousand and one words to describe you but it wouldn’t be enough to tell the world why you’re the center of my joy. It might be selfish but I don’t want to share you to the world even if it was the last resort to save it.
So what makes me happy? 5 years ago I wouldn’t have cared about what specifically but now I can confidently say what makes me happy:
You.