I always believed in the idea of enough. Happiness does not need many things, in theory. It does in practice. Venturing in the bazaar, among the lines of hanging clothes and asking for their prices is a practice I am aware of. A Sunday, a mother, a salary, and a bus: we looked forward to meeting our new possessions. We rushed back to the bus, as fast as we could rush with our bags. Food is a mother’s expertise, but children like sparkle and color. Full of happy things, we returned to our lives with an excitement of a new beginning. Happiness doesn’t need many things, but it constantly asks for novelty. To make a new assessment, I look around myself. Decorated walls, a yoga mat, a few books, a few quotes, a typewriter money-box to remind me I like to write in case I forget. photos of family and friends to remind me I have them, strings of jewelry I never wear to remind me I never wear them, the necklaces looked exciting in antique shops hangers of dresses to remind me I won’t need them, they are nice, and cheap, and happiness asks for novelty. Notebooks with pretty covers, most half-used, to remind me that I never feel complete. Stuffed animals to help me cope with the reminders that I am never complete, shoes, because… I don’t even know, shapes, because I am a shape too, colors, because my room has to be louder than my thoughts. I am a child at the bazaar on a Sunday. I have tried to shed the clutter, but couldn’t. Many things; I need everything filled to the brim. They remind me of different things I have so that I don’t think of those that I don’t. So I stare with hungry eyes until I can remember that in the end I am a child at the bazaar on a Sunday, wanting all of the colorful things, but mostly wanting to see my mother. Anxiety needs many things. Longing for something essential looks like a room stacked with objects. Happiness doesn’t need many things, happiness asks for a memory.
By Madina Tuhbatullina