Let me paint you my happy place; it’s technically not one place, but it’s a fusion of tiny guilty pleasures. Living minimally has kept my bitsy heart so full, quick to saturate with a sip of coffee or a hint of a passing cloud.
And though my unintentional attempts at sentimentalizing the small specks on this planet always induced pity and sympathy, that hasn’t stopped me from following the clouds with two cameras wrapped around my neck.
Gripping my cup of cappuccino with both hands, inhaling its scent and warmth, brings me an indescribable joy. Browsing the aisles of a stationery store and scribbling on loose paper until I find the perfect black pen is a tiny victory to me.
Putting my book on the side and petting my kittens is just pure happiness; life doesn’t get any better than this. My God, their fluffiness and their small legs as they skip around the grass is a sight so pure and precious that my heart inadvertently shatters and gushes with empathy.
Happiness is jolting across my bedroom with my favorite songs on both good and bad days because dancing always heals. Dancing is my therapy and my escape.
Happiness is reflecting and taking time away from my day to appreciate the friendshipversaries, the birthdays, the former fall season, and how life was on this particular date two years ago. It’s wearing makeup after neglecting it for a week or switching back to an old bag and recalling the thought process behind purchasing it.
I find joy in laughing away life’s troubles and keeping files in archives in case a former friend decided to come back to my life because there’s room for you; there’s always room for you in my heart.
My guilty pleasure is buying a new journal. My guilty pleasure is running out of space for my new poetry books. My guilty pleasure is turning red because I love feelings and I love emotions and I love love.
My guilty pleasure is the flower crown section at Forever 21. It’s my seven-year dedication and loyalty toward Costa Coffee for all the memories and conversations that took place there.
I love singing, and I could spend the rest of my life just singing my heart out, in bathrooms, kitchens, even as I walk up and down the aisles of my local grocery store. It’s pausing in the middle of shopping upon realizing that the store is playing a song of your favorite underrated Youtube artist.
My happiness is trying on a dress for no valid reason, and setting up my camera on a tripod to take pictures for, again, no reason. It’s that swift run to make it in frame after setting the DSRL on self-timer. It’s commemorating every passing second and putting a timestamp to every moment, even when people question your strange urge to take photos of everything.
The weirder the shoes, the more I am intrigued. The macho the clothes, the more I am driven to purchase them. That’s me; that’s my delight. That’s my happy place.
Happiness is stopping to smell the flowers, people-watching on a harbor, and living life as if you’re on a never-ending honeymoon with yourself. Where’s your happy place?