So today I woke up at around eight, checked my daily blogroll, found out that I have $6 in my bank account, cooked some breakfast, went back to bed. I got a call letting me know that I’ve been hired for a new job, my highest paying one to date, ending to my fourteen month unemployment stretch. Got dressed, bought a bus pass, went to school, ate lunch, skipped the last half of class. On the way home I bought a book, looked for a wristband, finished reading a chapter from my economics textbook. Got another call, letting me know that my application with Trolley and Wheaties into a beautiful 16th floor apartment has been accepted. And here I am, sitting in my furnished apartment next to my cat, watching people improv characters on a GO train.

I start work tomorrow. I’m scheduled for a table tennis marathon with Pat this month. My pork chop defrosted in time for dinner. Things are getting even better.

More than 170 people were killed today, in a war I know nothing about, concerning things I don’t understand, with people I’ve never met, at a place half the world away.

This is the first time that I’ve ever felt guilty to be happy.

I feel like speaking tonight. I feel like expressing myself in some way, but can’t focus on what I want to say. I feel like I’m totally addicted. I feel like sharing something that’s completely embarrassing, like the face trace trick or the wing chun dream.

I feel like singing. I feel like shouting. I feel like everything is just right.

I feel like I finally have people I can hang out with. I feel like I’ve finally had a meaningful relationship.

I feel like I can dream without disappointment. I feel like I can think without hurting. I feel like I can admire without jealousy.

I feel like every song is the last I’ll ever hear. I feel like I’m finally living.

I feel happy.

People who know me know that I generally tend not to get my hopes up. I never see the point. If I get my hopes up and things work out in my favour, then I would have expected such an outcome, and I become unappreciative. If things don’t work out, then I feel even worse than had nothing happened. On the other hand, if I don’t get my hopes up, I’ll feel great when I get my way, or I’ll feel fine when nothing works out.

Yet I can’t help but get my hopes up for what the future may hold. Lately, things have been going well in such a way that I feel comforted. Jonathan has made a great attempt at trying to get me a computer related job with a decent salary. I applied to a beautiful apartment with Nick which, I was told, I should have no trouble obtaining occupancy. I will be graduating soon, and free to live my life with a freedom only matched from the summer days of my childhood.

But most bright to me seems to be the future with my friends. I’ve met a great bunch of people, of which I immensely enjoy hanging out with. They have offered to help me move. They enjoy the same things I do. They are people I can confide in. They have gotten excited about my tenancy with Nick. Who else do I know is interested in my happiness? What other friends that I’ve had are so keen in spending time with me?

My friends make the future seem warm and bearable. Even when I admit to myself the way the future may work out, the fact that I may not get this job and industry connection, the fact that my rental application may be denied, I can’t imagine anything going wrong with these wonderful people. Sometimes I wish that I didn’t feel this way, that I could keep my mind in check. But I can’t.

And I don’t care.

At one point in my life, I believed I was like a jester in my pursuit of making other people happy. I didn’t really care how I was doing, the knowledge that my friends were well was enough to get me through the day. Nowadays, I think I’ve become more selfish. There seems to be a diffuse feeling of non-satisfaction.

Have I become more cynical?

I expect nothing from others. I still believe that my happiness can only be a result of my own actions. Yet it still fills me with a feeling of elation to know that I have been able to help someone else. Perhaps I’m hoping that the favour may be returned to me someday. Realistic would be a better word.

However, the thought that the people I care about are happy is still enough to satiate. I’ll take that as a good thing.

Forget about me.