As a child, my dad was a superhero. No one could convince me otherwise. I remember when I was a little girl, barely able to talk, all I wanted was rice from a specific restaurant.
My dad, ever indulgent, would always take me to get it. Me perched on his shoulders or in the passenger seat, feeling like a princess. There were many other moments like these.
My dad would stop the car on our way to school to pick flowers for my sister and me. Throughout my early school years, he'd carry my backpack and lunchbox while I rode triumphantly on his shoulders, reveled in the envious looks froms other kids.
Evenings spent getting my hair ready brought their own joy. My mom would sit me down, and the warm water pouring over my scalp during a wash would send tingles down my spine and erupt in giggles. Just having her care for me brought a simple happiness.
Back then happiness was a gift. I wasn't responsible for creating it. Now, it's on me, and I find myself greedily chasing those moments of joy, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing.
Through these experiences, I've come to believe happiness takes many forms. Sometimes it's a vibrant, infectious energy you can't contain, spreading to everyone around you.
Other times, it's a quieter contentment, a deep satisfaction that feeds your soul and radiates outward.
Whichever form happiness chooses to take, I eagerly await it with open arms, ready for the next thing to make me smile, erupt in laughter, or fill me with a sense of contentment.
Happiness can be a powerful emotion, but perhaps it also is a state of mind, a way of choosing to see the world.