Modesty & Honesty

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clever-oxymoron

What little things in life make you happy?

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I wake up for the tingly feeling I get when the cold air hits my freshly mouthwashed teeth. I wake up for the kiss on the forehead my mom gives me every morning, no matter what. I live for things like the way my cat rubs his head on my face when I cry, the quiet drive home every day after work or school, and the feeling of signing my name on a fresh new paycheck. Those things will never get old. I will always love to snack on almonds, not the salty or sugary kind, but just plain roasted almonds, and to close my eyes at the end of a long day and listen to music. The kind of music that makes your heart jump to your throat and stomach twist into knots with such an intensity that you start to believe that someone else, somewhere out there, feels things so deep down in the same way you do, and maybe, just maybe they are thinking of you too. The kind of music that makes you want to meet that person, whoever they are, and tell them everything because for some reason they will just understand and for once someone will listen to your thinly veiling words and hear the things that you are thinking but have never been able to say. I like to count how many steps it takes me to get from first to second period, and I like to organize my closet by season and color, a worrisome endeavor considering to achieve seasonal organization you must compromise color, and vice versa. But if you find a happy medium, in which tank tops are still on the left side while winter coats are far away on the right side, and your whites are with whites, and blues with blues, a strange feeling of accomplishment will rush over and you might understand why I organize my closet weekly. I like to call it quirky, my dad likes to call it obsessive compulsive disorder. Either way it makes me happy, and I will never stop flossing three times a day, or arranging my book bag in order of class period, because it is the littlest things in life that bring the greatest joy.

Each age interprets its universe in terms of what is currently important to it. Ancient animistic people wanting to make sense of the starry sky saw it as a zoo of people and animals – the Hunter, the Swan, the Lion, the Great Dog. The mechanical age of the eighteenth century bred a mechanistic philosophy into the clockwork universe: the newly discovered constellations of the Southern Hemisphere included the Octant, the Triangle, and the Microscope. Our present computer age sees the universe as an ever changing flow of information, and if we were to discover the stars today, our first instinct would be to try to decode their message.
Jack Cohen and Ian Stewart // Our Genes Aren’t Us

What little things in life make you happy?

I wake up for the tingly feeling I get when the cold air hits my freshly mouthwashed teeth. I wake up for the kiss on the forehead my mom gives me every morning, no matter what. I live for things like the way my cat rubs his head on my face when I cry, the quiet drive home every day after work or school, and the feeling of signing my name on a fresh new paycheck. Those things will never get old. I will always love to snack on almonds, not the salty or sugary kind, but just plain roasted almonds, and to close my eyes at the end of a long day and listen to music. The kind of music that makes your heart jump to your throat and stomach twist into knots with such an intensity that you start to believe that someone else, somewhere out there, feels things so deep down in the same way you do, and maybe, just maybe they are thinking of you too. The kind of music that makes you want to meet that person, whoever they are, and tell them everything because for some reason they will just understand and for once someone will listen to your thinly veiling words and hear the things that you are thinking but have never been able to say. I like to count how many steps it takes me to get from first to second period, and I like to organize my closet by season and color, a worrisome endeavor considering to achieve seasonal organization you must compromise color, and vice versa. But if you find a happy medium, in which tank tops are still on the left side while winter coats are far away on the right side, and your whites are with whites, and blues with blues, a strange feeling of accomplishment will rush over and you might understand why I organize my closet weekly. I like to call it quirky, my dad likes to call it obsessive compulsive disorder. Either way it makes me happy, and I will never stop flossing three times a day, or arranging my book bag in order of class period, because it is the littlest things in life that bring the greatest joy.