Mother’s definition of happiness is the realistic kind, the simplest, the purest. We grew up learning to enjoy simple, authentic things. We learned to be thankful for the roof we slept under, the food we had, the beds we slept in each night. She lived, satisfying herself with what she had, with what was brought and given to her in the name of God. And that’s how she taught us. That life is good because we can walk and breathe and live in a world that is not necessarily kind, not necessarily giving. We admired mother’s ability to accept the good and the bad, the worst and the best, the right and the wrong. But we came to find the ideal happiness. The one that is never quite reachable, never quite achievable. We learned to want more, want the things we couldn’t have, the things we wished to have. We tell mother we are not happy but she doesn’t understand. She is still happy with the one pair of jeans she owns, the one gold ring she wears. We have grown up and America has opened our eyes to dreams, possibilities, an eternal bliss that we must somehow conquer.
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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on July 23, 2006 12:47 AM.
The previous post in this blog was Trying to live in fiction.
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Comments (2)
that's the point that I wish you understand how you can change your life...
change in your life depends on you
omidvaram kheili bad naneveshte basham
va az in ke baraye neveshtehat - be khosoos oon haee ke be man ham marboote Comment nemizaram narahat nashi...
doooset daram
Posted by hamed | July 23, 2006 10:22 AM
Posted on July 23, 2006 10:22
nice!!
so is ur mom home now?
say hi to her from my side
Posted by swati | July 23, 2006 1:29 PM
Posted on July 23, 2006 13:29