I've been feeling particularly chirpy for far longer than I'm used to. And today I realized that the reason for this feeling-on-top-of-the-world and everything-is-absolutely-bright-and-beautiful-I-don't-care-what-you-think kick-ass attitude is just plain happiness.
It's kind of weird accepting that I'm happy. Yes, that would be little Ms. Melancholic me being happy despite habitual efforts to dig through the mayhem between my ears. I've stowed enough loot to satisfy my constant wondering, seeking, pondering on the minutest things that are guaranteed to catapult me to the land of sadness. I imagine all the stuff inside, the tons of baggages preserved like relics encased in cold hard glasses. There's just so many things in there.
I'm a collector. Good or bad, I just collect everything. There's a load of stuff of every possible shapes and and sizes, inconvenient things that mold truths and half-truths, the intrusive facets of experiences gained, and so the epic goes on. Still, I can't seem to stop. The great and the mundane never lose their charm. And so I yield, I harvest, I store, and I wait for whatever it is that I'm waiting for.
For now, I'm just happy. Happy that I'm still standing despite a decade's worth of love lost, of finding and losing twice that someone who made me feel alive again after dying ten years' worth of deaths, of letting go of the familiar things that made me feel safe, of finding a new path to explore, and of finally accepting that I'm whole.
Everything is just absolutely great and beautiful because I've finally realized, I'm now much bigger than my previous self. I think my collection has quietly expanded me to make way for more stuff. And for that, I now have more room for all the things that life wishes me to have.