Of all things, chocolate.
Or perhaps, high exam marks.
And definitely at the top of my list, not being sick.
It is an insurmountably horrible feeling, when the air seems to be so thick and dense. With every breath you take, the process of respiration just seems to get more and more difficult. Every gulp of air you inhale feels like ice, burning up your nose. Every exhale is a blizzard of dry fire. Your eyes feel dry and burning, but are uncontrollably watery. Your very throat is an itch you will never scratch.
Your head is pounding, contracting to the core; your very skull seems as if it would crack soon enough. Your upper body strength has escaped you, and you could barely manage to carry the weight of your own head. It feels heavy, and yet, your thoughts seem so light. It were as if your mind has disintegrated into jelly, or perhaps evaporated into a dense cloud of smoke.
Your legs are stiff and painful, sore around the joints you weren’t even aware of. But once more, it seems as if though your very bones have dissolved into plainly nothing.
Pain. Sheer pain.
And to be relieved from such an incapacitating experience would be your personal slice of heaven.
Or perhaps, heaven is the answer. To everything.
Why is it that pain, sorrow, agony, in all forms and in all ways, whether they may be emotional, physical, spiritual and whatnot, have to exist? And why is it that life seems like nothing more than a game of Escape, a wild and oddly futile game of Tag? We’re all being chased by problems. We may try to get away from them, now at least. But sooner or later, tag! You’re it. We’re all it. We’re all always it. And the rules never change.
The only way to end it is to stop playing the game.
But we always lose the game. I just lost the game.
Is it that the true cure to this cancerous epidemic, which we have so fondly called life, is death? Let’s just end it all. Let’s all just die.
If life is mainly about the pursuit of happiness, and if happiness is the absence of sorrow, then should we not pursue death? To succeed in life is to die. We live only to die.
But to be honest, the pursuit of happiness would depend on the very definition you give happiness.
Is happiness achieved in accomplishing a dream? In finding your place in life? In finding someone who compliments your existence?
Or perhaps, ending world hunger and achieving world peace, I thank you. God bless America.
Personally? Happiness is the triumph over sorrow. To live, and live fabulously well, in spite of all the pain. Happiness is not a dream, but a continuous process. It is a progressive movement of personal daily accomplishments. It is a process of finding, molding and creating yourself. It is a daily job of loving and being loved.
It isn’t about faking a smile, or airbrushing the sadness away.
It’s about saying, ‘Well it hurts, yeah. But I can make it.’ And meaning it.
Euphoria, in conclusion, is living and loving like you mean it. Happiness. Ecstasy. Joy. Life.