joie de vivre

Here is something I wrote when October began, and put up in facebook. A Lot of people told me that it made them happy, so I am including this here to 'spread the cheer' :)


"I feel like I have a steaming cup of, lets see, hot chocolate laced with...um, something nice and drowse inducing... stocked up in my heart.
And suddenly in the middle of an interview, in the middle of a street, in the middle of an article, in the middle of listening to KB Sir, I suddenly remember that it’s October, and it feels like I am taking a sip. Glorious warmth spills from my head to my finger tips, and I grin, and the person talking to me a. smiles, too, thinking it’s something they said, or, b. gets irritated and asks me what it is.
I shake my head, and keep grinning. I don’t know. It’s easy to be happy. It just takes a little sunshine. Heck even the sight of my hair frizzing in the rain, threatening to give Bob Marley a run for his money, gives me joy.
I laugh at my shadow, and say, “I love my frizzy hair!” kicking a clump of dried leaves off the pavement, while a couple of school kids snigger at the crazy girl hopping around on the street.
I look at my rattiest pair of converse, that has two rips on the back, the converse that goes way back with me, the converse that I nearly threw away in an airport once because of excess baggage, the converse that carried a marijuana badge until it broke and fell off one day so that now all that remains of the badge are the holes it made........the converse that mum chucked into the bin one day and I rescued (Mummy! I didn’t even throw it away at the airport! It’s my lucky pair!)And my heart breaks at how much I love my ratty old pair of converse.
I feel the wad of bills in my jeans pocket, and think about my birthday present....something that smells yummy like a big thick fat book, a new book by a writer I love but a book I haven’t read....maybe The Host?
I look at my middle finger, and my recently broken nail, looking at me stupidly, stubbily, from among its other, long and painted pals. And I love my stubby broken nail the best, poor me.
As I stand, quiet, quite alone, I can feel the laugh bubbling up inside me, and peeking out in a small smile while I try to smother it.
Why are people obliged to react when you smile?
They look affronted, (why is she smiling at me?) or puzzled (is she smiling at me?), or plain annoyed(why the hell is she smiling at me?).
Heck, I am happy. And its not love.
It’s October."