Damn. I haven’t been around here in a long time. All of a sudden, my life seems to have changed, for the busier. I barely have any spare time to blog, and whenever I have time on in the Internet, which is by now very little, it’s solely spent on forums and school assignments. My apologies to bigpenguin for not updating and keeping him in suspense the whole time (I bet he comes here everyday just to check for new blog entries), I promise I won’t be away so long next time.
Anyways, I’m here in the school comp lab, I’ve got another English assignment on ‘Happiness’ to do, if I have time I’ll probably change my blog skin again, so let’s carry on.
The writer sat slouched on his chair, gazing blankly at the monitor. On it was a empty Blogger text box, waiting patiently to be stacked with witty words or intelligent phrases.
He was supposed to complete a narrative about Happiness. Happiness. How does one define happiness? Is it merely emotion, or something more than that? If the latter is so, what more can one find in Happiness?
The writer thought hard. Trying to remember the past times when he felt happy. He was reminded that those very times he had gone through simply could not be generally defined as ‘happy’. He dropped both hands down on his lap, and heaved a sorry sigh. This was going to be harder than he thought.
he remembered his birthdays. Yes, birthdays were always happy occasions. His parents would invite all his friends over for parties when he was a ten-and-below child. There were games, food, liveliness, cake, and presents. The adults would be in their best of moods, cheerily mingling with each other and exchanging news, while the kids would run around and play hide-and-seek, shouting and chattering to their heart’s content.
He remembered his early years in school. His grades then were marvellous; everybody thought he was a prodigy of sorts. His parents would constantly reward him for his excellent academic results, bringing him out on family excursions or dinners. They were proud of him, and he was proud of himself.
In his preteens, he recalled his times as a swimming ace. He would fly gracefully in the water, easily overtaking his competitors and reaching the finish line first. The testament? His collection of trophies and medals arranged prominently on his study table, till this day.
The writer smiled briefly. The good old days. He raised his arms again, and floated his fingers over the keyboard. Sure, he’s stopped celebrating birthdays with fancy parties, his grades are good albeit not fantastic most recently, and he’s not been in a pool for a long time.
His fingers began dancing furiously on the keys.
But, for now, he had finally found something good to write on his blog.