Very cluttered. Skip if not in the mood to decipher the labyrinth of my brain.What makes women happy? Fay Weldon, my most favourite author tried to answer the question in her book with the same title as the question. I think her list went, sex, chocolate, shopping, friends, etc. Not necessary in that order though. She says that women feel happiness in small moments. For example, when the sun rises on a perfect day and she stands in her blooming garden, she feels happy, for about 5 minutes. But unadulteratedly happy. Then the moment passes. According to her, a woman's 'Happiness' is the sum total of these very short-lived happy moments. I just hope I am able to be peaceful. Happiness is so fleeting that it scares me. I can get addicted to happiness and its scary how sad sadness feels after a bout of happiness. But one cant escape the race for happiness. One mortal can't. My quest for peace of mind sounds phoney and pretentious even to me sometimes. Fay Weldon says, 'Be Good.' And 'Good will happen to you.' Karma- I believe is a a just bitch. Back to finding happiness. Love. It's scary how that seems to be the answer everywhere I look. The concept of another human being fulfilling a need in me seems unfair to me. If our goal of finding meaning/happiness in our lives ended with our finding love with another, I am sure we would have been born in pairs. However, we are born alone. Left alone to make sense of everything we see/hear/feel around us. Our parents aren't gods, we realise sometime soon. Our siblings not our best friends. Our friends not our soulmates. We are back to square one. Of course, we can spend our lives trying to analyse/figure out/make sense of the human condition. It's futile of course. For we are bound by our human limitations. And accepting the futility of our fragile human condition doesn't seem to be easy. Oh How we strive. For we are the only species that can. We form memories, we retain, we have a thumb. So we build, we make, we invent. Isn't it funny! We invented a currency. I think human civilisation(?) peaked when we gave intrinsic value to paper. But I digress. I was looking for meaning of life. The question Why? Isn't really answerable. So we do the next best thing. We live. We try pretending that we are doing more than just existing. We write novels, poems, make movies, music, so much to validate our human birth. There is beauty in it I suppose. In this effort. That there is strife and we still live is beautiful I suppose. That we created language, that we gave credence to art, I suppose in a way is a victory of our human birth. And we created religion and we went back to square one. But I digress. What makes me happy? Food, alcohol, sex. Easy answers these. But what sucks is that happiness doesn't make me happy anymore. I still feel joy. Yes. I try to hold onto that. So. Yes am still living. I still have an unnameable hope. But I suffer. For nothing seems to help any more. Not food, alcohol or sex either. Prozac might, sleep may. And then I wake up and am back to square one. The trick is to be normal. To belong to your community no matter what. To hold on to your roots/caste/religion/morals/what your parents taught, etc. If you are a freak and you begin to question any of that...that's it for you then. Back to square one.