He Is Happy. We Are Different

by HelluvaGirl

There are few things as eye-opening as meeting someone who is completely, utterly, essentially different from you.

Not only you see the obscure unfold before your eyes. All that you are (not) at the core takes a visible shape, too.


He is happy.

He is happy about a song (this is one of my all-time favourites, he tells), about the weather, a pasta and a swim in the pool. His parents love each other today as they have when they dated. He seems to be a natural when it comes to joie de vivre.

I sit there, curiously watching him, like one watches an unseen, exotic new breed. What is it like to be him?

All the melancholy of my existence suddenly seems a shameful waste of time. Completely senseless. Why does one live like me when one can live like him?

There is also something cruel and uncompromising about happy people. They do not validate our insecurities flying around like ashes in the air – and, as a rule, the calmer it gets, the more they rise up to get into our eyes, smear our face and trouble our breathing.

Suddenly, being happy is not only a vague concept or an option out there, but also my debt to myself.

You think too much.

That’s what I do. Is it that obvious?

Yes. You should put your energy to really important things. Instead, you try to keep everything under control.

Go figure.