We need happy endings. Often we don’t get them, often, the world is too brutally real and life is as cruel as it comes. Fiction gives us an alternate reality, a truth that exists in happy endings. Happy endings exist, happiness exists, possibilities for recovery, joy and gladness exist. All manner of positivity is a tangible reality, but then again, the past is a forest of horrors. The past is a brutal forest of terrifying truths cloaked in a mist of regret, but at times, the sun just shines through the pain.
A drop of dew is lens enough for our crimes. We must look for happy endings, and I can say that happy endings are real because I believe in them. We may get ripped apart in many ways while we live but as long as everything works out for the best, we can say that life has been a positive experience. I look around me in this strange city, I look at the people that aren’t mine and I know I am home. A foreigner I may be, but I have done my part for the joy I hope I bring.
Why do I feel this positive feeling? Why the gladness and euphoria? I am sober, there is no alcohol, no drug, but there is a grave realization, an epiphany that glides around the room I am sitting in, reminding me that there is hope, there is happiness, there is real beauty in the bloodthirsty chain of nature and relationships, and that it is real. I felt the grand weight of the stars as I sit, a foreigner at home, at heart and in mind, but a welcomed foreigner in a country that is beautiful. Home is where the heart belongs, and my heart is here, for now.
We have set our sights on ambition, I certainly have, but there is a calm relaxation in realizing that in our search for reality, we often forget that happiness is real. Cynicism is real, but so is optimism, however misplaced it might feel to those of us who are having our blues. I look out of my windows in the hopes of catching a crescent moon drift across a cloudy sky. I see the streetlamps, our closest stars guiding the lost where they may be found. They led me to my flat as I walked gravely through the streets again, and I reached the door of my apartment to find a welcoming hum of silence and a warmth to my acceptance of the fact that this, right here, is home. I miss the streets of my city, but I am courting this city now, the streets here are my lovers, and in them I find solace.