Paradox of Solitary Happiness

Around this time of the month, lovers will probably be on their toes preparing for the upcoming Valentine’s day. Almost all magazines of different varieties will be brandishing teasers like ‘How to memorably spend your V-day with him/her’ in gleaming bright letters, framing a photo of a happy couple romantically looking at each other. When I was in High school and College, it has been a common sight during this occasion to see a parade of brightly colored flowers, humongous and fluffy stuffed toys and interestingly shaped balloons on campus grounds. Sweeps of women carrying large bouquets of flowers wrapped in strong shades of red and pink paper would be marching on their classes, carefully cradling the love presents in their arms, like holding fragile items of wilting value. Men would most of the time, be the equally proud bearers of such objects, because they either view it as a solid pronouncement of their affection, or it just shows how much moolah they can splurge on such fancies. Valentine’s day is truly a season wherein everything seems to be painted in red.

While a number of those people who are single treat Feb 14 as synonymous to judgment day or doomsday, I myself seem to be unfazed by it. You can never catch me lamenting over the ‘misfortune’ of having a zero love life, specifically during this time of the year. I never felt so sorry for myself, nor did I ever cast envious glances at lovers whom I occasionally see caressing each other in a corner, and as if mentally telling them the phrases ‘don’t patronize me! I’m happy being single’. Matters like these were often cold-shouldered by me.

Over the years, I have experienced the perks of being single. I’ve gotten the chance to focus more on myself and appreciate my freedom to simply do what I wish. I have exercised the sheer authority to put every aspect of my life in their proper perspectives. Spending my time in solitude actually allowed me to accept, appreciate and love myself more. I may sound like a self-absorbed individual, but I can’t deny the sublime wonders it has brought into my life.

In a sense, I have bought my autonomy with a good amount of loneliness. And there, I think, is where the paradox lies.

This odd feeling has come over me, as if I have been suspended in midair, with no way to gain purchase on the ground far below. It has taken its toll already, consuming a huge proportion of my existence. Years of feigning happiness has remarkably devoured my self worth. Deriving genuine happiness from isolation is an oxymoron.

It all boils down to a single question- when will I ever let myself love and be loved again? I certainly cannot answer it right know. The tragic memories of the past were as lucid as the smell of my coffee sitting idly here on my table.

As I think about it, a stifling panic strikes me with a realization of my greatest fear – that is if I could ever take the pain of having my heart broken for the same damn reason.