When are you most happy?
When are you most happy?
I think happiness has always loved me quietly.
It never waited for permission.
It never asked for occasions.
It simply stayed.
I don’t remember learning how to be happy
I remember noticing.
Noticing how love hides
in the smallest folds of everyday life.
In the way birds speak to the morning
as if they are grateful to be here.
In water falling slowly,
each drop patient, unafraid of time.
In the sky changing its colours
without asking if it is allowed to.
In the wind brushing past me,
gentle, unannounced,
like a familiar hand on my shoulder.
These moments soften me.
They always have.
Children’s laughter feels like love
without conditions.
Girls laughing freely
not worried about how loud they are,
not apologising for taking space
it feels like hope wearing a smile.
At night, I look at the stars
and feel held by something larger,
something kind.
And when my heart feels too full,
it spills into lines and colours.
My thoughts find a home
inside my illustrations.
It’s my way of saying
thank you
to a world that keeps giving.
My children
their smiles undo me.
When they laugh without fear,
when they look at me
with complete trust,
I feel wrapped in purpose.
In those moments,
nothing is missing.
Nothing is needed.
Some days, happiness arrives
as a long drive
with nowhere important to go.
Old songs float through the car,
bringing back versions of myself
I still love.
Some days, it’s an old friend calling,
and suddenly the years fall away,
leaving only warmth.
And then there are moments
so small they almost go unnoticed
a kind comment,
a gentle word,
someone pausing long enough
to say, this touched me.
In those moments,
love feels like it travelled far
just to reach me.
Life is tender.
It breaks easily.
And if we keep waiting
for happiness to be loud,
perfect, extraordinary
we may miss how often
it is already sitting beside us.
So I choose to live lovingly.
I choose to gather joy
from ordinary seconds.
To fall in love
with quiet days.
To let small moments
fill my hands and heart.
When am I most happy?
When love is felt
without being named.
When my heart is warm,
my breath is slow,
and the world
just as it is
feels enough.