Wewriteabout.life

Tag: story

  • JWA: Happiness

    Oftentimes, I ponder about the enigma of happiness. More often, I hear theories.

    Happiness comes after suffering
    Higher Highs, Lower Lows
    Happiness is long term, pleasure is short term
    Gratitude is a cantrip
    You don’t deserve anything. You deserve everything.
    Happiness is a choice
    Happiness is an impossible goal we strive to chase
    Law of Attraction
    You will be happy and you will also be sad


    The definition of happiness should not rely on analogies yet apply to all analogies

    I once met a woman who excelled in the sales industry and was the top in her field in Southeast Asia. My “bosses” finally managed to book a talk with her and the TLDR is this:

    Your grandiose problems do not always require a grandiose solution. Most of the time, it’s a straightforward answer. Just stop being a pussy and do it.

    Obviously, it is always easier to dish out advice but never take it yourself. Of course, that means I’m a pussy too. So this got me thinking. All these theories feel like they are reflections of a singular truth to answer the FAQs of happiness. Every time you read them, it resonates with you but the answer never feels whole.

    Over the last 8 months or so, I’ve begun to think about various theories and learn new ideas from different industries and social interactions. Right now, I am content. I’m still a mess, still a pussy, am not close to completing the goals I have to achieve and have a great number of regrets but I am content. I do feel the need to document this as a reminder for the future but I find it impossible to articulate. The one truth which feels like it should be a straightforward answer seems impossible to write. I am aware of and have learnt from all the different theories, have crafted more on my own that may very well be convergent with ideas of an ancient philosopher, and am certain these very thoughts also flow through the minds of many people.

    There is an inkling of a feeling that I will never be able to articulate it and as much as I want to, I am content with never achieving it. However to sate my urge to document this abstract feeling:

    From reading the theories, I resonate with them. Therefore, I know Happiness. Happiness simply is. Nothing more, Nothing less.

    Does it feel incomplete? Honestly, More so than the other theories. But I like it.

  • JWA: The Attacking Haystacks

    Early in the 21st century, a group of young punks were out one day. Painting the town red with their shenanigans, they chanced upon a peaceful farm.

    Unlike most farms they encountered in the past, this one felt odd. No one could have predicted at the time, but the presence of the oddly shaped haystacks that seemed to almost blanket the plot were hiding a simple dark truth. 

    The towering misformed dirty yellow stacks were strange at first glance, but passed off as regular haystacks to the uninformed eye. One by one, the teens clambered over the fence and gathered for a round of hide and seek. Most of them shared the same brain cell and hid in the haystacks nearby, within earshot of Billy – the seeker. Others, craving more thrill, hid in the looming shadows cast by the moonlight, ready to scamper away at the sound of a crack. 

    5…

    4… 

    As Billy counted down, everyone prepared for the hunt to begin. Even the wind seemed to flee. 

    3… 2… 1… 

    Silence. Darkness itself ate the moon and the farm was plunged into a pit of hungry shadows eating at the very fibres of the teens’ confidence. Shrill screams punctured the air, rattling souls. The infinite cacophony that seemed to grow increasingly louder every passing second ceased suddenly. 

    ———

    Billy opened his eyes. Silence. Before him, a darkness so deep, he doubted there was even a floor. The personification of fear ran its tendrils down his back, sending shivers straight up his spine. Afraid to turn around, he approached the first haystack. 

    The haystacks around him seemed to pulse in his vicinity, the hay twitching like hairs on a timid child. Cautiously, he reached out to the haystack. Also sharing the same brain cell, he was almost cocky, thinking he’d find one of his friends immediately. In the spur of the moment, he lunged forward, hoping to catch them off guard. 

    Eviscerated. Skin tore, blood gushed, and a sharp twang of pain coursed through his body. He screamed in agony, his pre-pubescent cries breaking the silence. 

    Billy had been pricked. By the needle in the haystack.