in life its so important to make someone happy. but how ironic we spend most of it trying to make ourselves happy on the expense of others’ lives. or perhaps not. then why is man so complicated? why is it that when he looks into the mirror, there is no truth, there is vacuum filled with innumerable questions floating in mid air. in vacuum?
according to an adage, living for others is the true way of living. put aside yourself, become selfless and try to make others’ life heaven no matter if you end up all messed up.
but thats not what the adage really means. it means putting a smile on someone’s face is so true a virtue that it puts all wrongs to right even for you. that one smile brought to someone puts a smile on your face straight away. how true.
as i think of the smiles, truly genuine smiles, i think of a child beaming from ear to ear after he’s heard his favourite bedtime story. i think of my nani’s face, glowing white, wrinkle less, suddenly young and defiant of time and age when i made her fill my scrap book or when i showed her my poem. she was happy in my happiness. there was truth in her contentment. i think of my mother’s smile, it comes so easily amid her fragility. the dark circles islanding her eyes vanish like they never existed. she smiles on a private thought, then chuckles when i ask whats the matter, she gives me a sheepish, young girl’s mischievous look. as i lie in her lap for i know she knows i do that only when i want her to caress my hair, run her hands through my hair, i see she’s secretly smiling. but its not because that i make her happy, its because shes the one who finds her happiness in my happiness. thats happiness in its raw and simplest form.
but today we look for happiness in different terms. its so hard to make someone happy now.
but how can you buy someone happiness ( such a rare gem these days) without getting wasted in the process. isn’t being selfless a significant component of living for others? defy yourself, become someone’s mirror, show them their reflection, make them happy but never reveal yourself. your existence, your breaths all acting as a life support system for someone else. there is no you, only them. all for what? just to see a smile, an expression of contentment on their faces; that after all your hard work, all your sacrifices is still not there? its hard to synchronize my thoughts with sensibility as i type away in a frenzy. but why is man so complicated. why does he dwell in two extremes. either selflessness or selfishness. why does he look like a failed juggler in a circus full of audience?