Poverty in the midst of Plenty.

There was a time that I was hoping if I'm out of this small home town, I would be extremely happy. That was 7 years ago already. It was tough time and I couldn't see bright future ahead of me. Everything was blocked that I barely could breathe.

Now, it's been 7 years since then and I am out of my little hometown , it seems to me I have everything that I wished for. I guess I ought to be grateful on everything occurs to me right now but the fact is I'm not always happy.

Recently I was wondering about what is happiness? Why can't I be happy all the time?

When I become happy finally then sooner or later the feeling is gone. Why doesn't it last long?Am I too fickle? or Don't I know how to be appreciated??

Once those made me happy, it doesn't work same way anymore.

Why being happy is so complicated?

Are we supposed to live to struggle to find happiness all our life time??

The bottom line of my feeling is when I'm not happy or when I'm not fulfilled of myself, I am lost. When I feel lost, I lost my control of my conscious and I feel like I'm day dreaming most of time.

Someone told me that happiness comes from within. I agree with that.

Tired...

In fact, too tired to write..

Feeling guilty, and thinking how can my husband stick to his resolution since New Year??

Do I need more discipline? What's the secret of keeping one's resolution???

Being tired can't be always an excuse.. I feel guilty.

Keep writing!!

Keep writing! - That's what I'm going to stick to.

When I watched the documentary of Virginia Wolf, there was a sequence that her nephew was telling a story of a time with her. It was very little clip of whole documentary but it resonates in my head all the time.

It was something like this,

' My aunt used to ask me what woke you up this morning?'

and he answered ' well, a Sun?' then she replied back ' Was it angry sun or happy sun?'

and her nephew, probably aged 80s but thrilled to talk about his aunt, goes on saying,

' My aunt always wanted us to write. Even there was nothing special had happened, she insisted us to write. She used to say there has to be something different than other days, there must be something excites you or disgusts you, there is something different, so write about it every day.'

Yes, Madame Virginia!

I'm going to write every day, and today it was about you.

I admire you of all my heart.