How to write happy?
About writing. About life.
Over the years whatever little I have written I have observed is always tragic or there is a bit of sadness to it. Now with this observation of mine comes a lot of questions. What is wrong with sad writing? Or is my writing really sad?
But suppose they are, why are they so? Is there a part of me which is sad though I find myself at ease. I have always believed that the things that we write about tell us about our inner weather. Why is it so wintery in my mind?
Or maybe writing is tragic. The formless, shapeless thoughts crashing into paper, maybe it’s supposed to be tragic.
What is even writing happy?
Or are these my attempts to not face the truth that somehow deep there lies sadness.
I hoped for a friend or maybe just a pure, innocent connection and it’s tragic that out of a billion people that we live with we struggle to find a pure connection.
It’s sad that human relationships fail, it’s sad that you can’t understand me and I can’t understand you, or maybe we don’t want to.
I tried peeking into various worlds and knocking various doors, only to return with disappointment, so now when I write about it, it’s supposed to be sad.
When I know that I have betrayed myself, it’s supposed to be sad.
But what could I have done?
It’s sad, you know, to be finding peace elsewhere while leaving home behind.
It’s sad to be neglected, misunderstood, bullied, cheated on, unloved, hated, ignored, disrespected, left alone.
And that’s all I ever write about.
How do I write happy?
