happiness is best shared
I live for the Friday nights which please and hurt, which comforts and disconcerts. There is no other evening which can match the breadth of our emotions as it is on the last working day of the week. I live for the post-intoxication sobriety, when a new found confidence allows us to profess our sentiments with clarity and honesty; when for a few hours we can talk about the things which matter without apprehension or fear of judgment; when we could feel our bodies and hearts merge in that rarefied plane of human connection.
I live for the spur of the moment decisions: the random trip to swim forty floors up on a rainy day; the unplanned rendezvous to a have hearty Chicken mami after work; the side trips to fast food chains where we forgo the niceties of a healthy diet. It is during those moments sensible conversations emerge: from our greatest fears in life, to our daily, minor victories; from concepts as encompassing as mortality, to topics as divisive as politics, and relationships.
I live for those cool, August evenings when after the impromptu hangout, or the grand Friday night drinks, I find myself walking alone towards home. During those solitary walks, my sorrows are flushed away in the liquefied darkness of the night, pushed out of my system by the new memories I await to sew in my tapestry. I see the lampposts emit a heady glow; I hear the rattle of the MRT; I feel the silent breeze streaming through the trees and across my hair. Dazed and dreamy, but brave and content, the world spins slower than usual, and my nocturnal habits are squelched by the pure bliss of knowing I am alive and my happiness is shared by others.