I’m a creep. I sit on benches and take pictures of innocent passers-by. I stand in dark places and take pictures of whatever/whomever tickles my fancy. Sometimes, I ask bearded men to stop and pose for me . But today, here are a few pictures I’ve taken while being a yummy creep:
I was complaining to T a few days back about how I’ve become such a cheery happy person; we don’t like cheery people here! I’m laughing a lot; I’m wearing bright colours; I’m skipping and dancing on the streets; I’m generally more vocal; heck, I even whistle at work! It’s ridiculous; even more so when I remember that I had a mini-bout of depression sometime last year.
But here I am!
I do not come from a wealthy family. Yes, I’ve attended good schools and live in an okay house in an okay neighbourhood but it hasn’t always been a piece of cake to maintain this lifestyle or to afford the finer things of life after the basics have been taken care of. When I was younger, there’d be days when I sat in my wardrobe (best place for reflection/meditation/daydreaming yo!) and wished my family was bloody rich and we could travel every weekend and buy things on a moment’s whim; but that never happened. I wonder now what my life would be like if there’d been a blue genie nearby.
You see, now, I’m glad things are the way they are. If they weren’t, maybe I wouldn’t have learned this: Money don’t mean shit in the grand scheme of things. Hackneyed. Trite. Yes. But true, so true.
I do not remember making a conscious decision to be happy despite anything; but perhaps I did. It’s the way I live now. As simplistic and bubble-gummy as it sounds, I will be happy, dammit! Do you know how happy listening to a song I like makes me? Or just knowing I have fabulous friends a phone call away? These days, just making a buddy smile expands my heart so. It’s ridiculous! And I’m using exclamations too! It’s the littlest things, guys. Wearing my silly clothes; reading a Lorrie Moore story; banter with an intelligent person; a cute (bearded) man on the street; taking a (maybe) good photograph; laughing with friends; (refer to my ‘I Like’ post).. the littlest things. Things that money doesn’t control.
Maybe it has a little to do with the fact that I was born without ambition. Maybe. When having a serious conversation about my job options post-Masters with my parents, I cut in and muttered “I just want to be happy yo!” to which they said nothing. (Silence translated to- :S O_O Shey omo yii ti ya were?)
Maybe it has nothing to do with that.
I will also be the first person to say that there’s a poetry to sadness; an overwhelming awareness of oneself in tragedy. And I’m not saying I won’t indulge in romanticizing things that hurt sometimes; but when I’m dead and taking an average temperature of my days here, I want happiness to trump it all. My heart is light; my mother says I look healthier (and fatter); I just want to drink Irish Cream and have serious conversations about silly things for the rest of my days.
Could I maybe maybe have attained this elusive halcyon?