Bequea's Happiness Report

Bequea's Happiness Report

Happiness Report, Day 1: I signed the papers for the surgery today, and now sleep won't come. The pain isn't what's keeping me awake. It's just... lying in this hospital bed, my head is suddenly swimming with memories. The windows, painted a cheerful yellow. The floor, so warm from the afternoon sun's caress. Mom's fluffy red bean cakes. Dad, pretending to read the paper but really watching me sulk. And Rocket's there, too, tail thumping softly in the corner... A world with no sadness, no pain. No blood on the table. No Rocket, filthy and scared. This feels like a good sign. The merciful "Aha" will return that pure joy to me... THEY have to. Happiness Report, Day 3: The doctor came by. He walked me through the surgery. He says a needle, long and thin, will slide into my brain and simply erase my sense of pain. "You won't hurt anymore," he promised. It's the promise I've been waiting for my whole life, but my heart is pounding with fear. Pain has been my constant companion, my torturer... but I've never met anyone who lives without it. I'm "a rare precedent," the doctor said. If they take my pain away, who am I? Will people still love me when they no longer have to pity me? I don't have the answers, Rocket. I spent the day hidden in the library, reading. There's a part I want to remember, to read to you one day: "Your own happiness will come to you, and curl up at your feet like a puppy. It will not care what you have become, it will only understand, and love you." Wish me luck tomorrow, Rocket. Please. Happiness Report, Day 7: I feel fine. A little dizzy now and then, but no real discomfort. The doctor asked me if I still wanted to read. I'm just so tired, and it feels like too much trouble, so I told him no. He suggested visitors, if I'm bored. But I thought and thought, and drew a complete blank. There's no one I could think of. Happiness Journal, Day 24: I think I'm starting to feel it. Happiness. A nurse yelled at me today. It was the fifth time I'd spilled my food. But, I didn't feel bad at all. The things that the production team brought kept getting lost or broken. Yet, I don't really feel sad about it. Pain, guilt, sorrow, self-doubt... all the negativity is just... gone! Glory to The Laughter! So this is what it feels like! True happiness! Happiness Report, Day 52: They discharged me. Assigned me a new job. As if it matters. Most of the world tastes like cardboard now. The producer asked if I wanted any of my things back. I don't. I didn't even take the congratulatory flowers they brought. Don't get me wrong, I can laugh. I do. All the time. But the only thing after laughing is more laughing. The only thing after happiness is more happiness, forever. And that's what makes it so... empty. So... tasteless. Happiness Report, Day 73: Finally. I can hear it. The whispers of "Aha," just like the doctor said I would. Aha is telling me to go find something. This isn't about finding pure happiness. Or true happiness. It's a need. An instinct. I have to find it. But... what? What am I looking for? Happiness Report, Day ???: I've read this whole journal again. I still don't know what I'm looking for. Mom? Dad? The show? Rocket? My fans? The doctor? Myself? What is it? What is it? What is it that matters? I don't know anymore. I'm already standing in the sunshine, right? If the sun lights up everything, then why can't I see what I'm looking for... Happiness Report: Day ???? I'm still looking. I have to keep looking... O Laughter above, please. Give me a little more time. Happiness Report: Day ????? My time is up. Goodbye, bright and sunny world. If you ever get the chance, could you leave some flowers on my grave? For this happy soul.