The happiest people aren't always the ones who laugh the most
In many areas of our lives or about the people around us, we all make assumptions from time to time. 'If he bought that, he must be very rich, if he behaves like that, he must be very sad, if he doesn't behave well, he must not love me, if he criticizes me, he must be angry with me, if he loved her very much, he wouldn't do that'... By making positive or negative assumptions, we can get unrealistic ideas and even drag others in that direction.
She doesn't wear make-up so she must be very sick, she doesn't smile so she must have a problem, she looks very happy, she has no worries, but is that really so? How accurate are our assumptions, how much of the truth do they reflect or how do they affect us? We say that every man is his own man, but at the end of the day, we don't really let ourselves do that and involuntarily or with awareness we make assumptions about other people's lives, feelings, thoughts, beliefs, lives, pain, happiness. But it's time to put a stop to all these assumptions. In this article, we have gathered the assumptions we urgently need to stop making, let's let everyone live in their own world 'in their own way'.
Behind the polite smiles and friendly greetings people give you, there may be brokenness, loneliness, deep pain... If only this assumption were true; if only people who smile a lot were really happy. But it is very difficult to know what is really behind a deep smile or a seemingly joyful laugh. Sometimes a smile is really an expression of happiness, and sometimes it can be a mask for deep pain. Therefore, even if we cannot always see the pain of others, it is always good to be kind.
I wish it didn't happen that way, but unfortunately it does. We may all have been disappointed by the people we love the most at some point in our lives. People whom we love and trust, whom we say can do us no harm, can also upset us. In other words, snow can fall on the mountains we trusted... No one is perfect; just because we love and care for someone very much does not mean that they will not have flaws or make mistakes. Sometimes trusting or loving someone too much can make it easier to overlook those flaws, but we should also be prepared for disappointments from the people we love so much in order not to be caught unprepared for a mistake, a mistake, and not to be more upset later.
Just because others do things differently from us does not mean they are wrong. The right way for everyone is undoubtedly the way they know best. But that doesn't make other ways ineffective or unsuccessful. We may all have different methods and tools for doing things differently, and despite these differences, successful work can be achieved. Giving differences a chance can increase the chances of success, and it can also help you broaden your perspective. In short, just because someone doesn't follow your path doesn't mean they will get lost on that path. Wait, be understanding and give them a chance; they may even be more effective than your way.
Did you know that the attitude we show towards people we disagree with gives clues about the kind of personality we have? Are you tolerant or quarrelsome? Do you use destructive criticism instead of constructive criticism or can you use your communication skills effectively to find common ground? All of them can give themselves away at the point where your ideas come into conflict. Instead of excluding, criticizing or judging people who disagree with you, you can try to build strong communication, find solutions and solve problems by showing understanding. Moreover, this way you can be sure that you are not hurting anyone in vain.
Just because we don't know someone doesn't mean they are not trustworthy. Some people put up so many walls in their lives that it is almost impossible to find bridges to reach them... If you don't want to be one of them, you have to open yourself up and give people small chances. Don't make yourself believe that people you don't know are untrustworthy, so that you don't lose people from the beginning who can gain your trust slowly, in small steps, over time. In fact, if you think about it, you may have experienced some situations where you have witnessed that people you know are not trustworthy enough, so you may believe that trust has little to do with whether you know someone or not.
Considering all this, assumptions may seem to be an integral part of our daily lives. However, with a little awareness, we can realize that what we believe to be true can often be far from reality, and we can change our perspective and move away from our subjective judgments.
In this way, we can put our prejudices aside and take a deeper look at everything that is going on.
Sometimes I think of all the sunny mornings I missed
I love Chinese food boxes, stacking leftover boxes on top of each other to build little towers.
I like to dip the tea bag in hot water and watch the water slowly change color...
I love to watch my beloved sleeping, her calm face and eyelashes dyed red by the sunlight.
And I love listening to music at sunrise, Chopin, Schubert and Billie Holiday.
Sometimes I think of all the sunny mornings I missed. The two years I spent sleeping in the dark, soft embrace of depression. Sometimes I miss it. I don't know if that's normal, but I'm tired of being ashamed of my feelings. Yes, I miss my depression sometimes, I admit it. I miss those lazy days when I ran away from my responsibilities, when I did nothing. But only when I'm tired. And only sometimes.
There were no Chinese takeout boxes back then. There were no fragrant teas. I didn't have a girlfriend, and I never believed I would. And there was no piano music at sunrise. There was only darkness. Only that velvety softness. It drew me in, wouldn't let me go, whispered deceptive words of love in my ear.
I would sit on the couch in the dark with a cup of cold coffee and wonder if I would ever be happy again. I believed that depression would last forever, that no one could help me. What's more, I didn't want anyone's help. I was strangely content with the unhappy place I was stuck in.
I was running away from reality. That's exactly what I was doing. From everyday life, from my family, from my friends, from writing. I didn't have a job. I didn't have a purpose, a hobby, a plan, anything I was passionate about, anyone I loved... I had nothing. All my days were the same. I had finally found a way not to live, and that was to die little by little. It was exactly what I needed.
One day, while making soup, I was so absorbed in my own unhappiness that I almost burned the house down. That's when I realized I was in this alone. No one could get me out of it unless I wanted to. The following week, I reluctantly started therapy.
You don't have to suffer, my therapist told me. You have gone to the dark side, but we will bring you back. And she did. She brought me out of the darkness, gave me the strength and courage to take responsibility for my life. She showed me that I really didn't have to suffer. Life was hard, but it was also very beautiful.
I got all the help I could get, I started yoga, I meditated, I listened to podcasts, I went for long walks and I never turned my nose up at anything that might be good for me, not even those best-selling self-help books. No, no, not even those little fortune cookies that come when I order Chinese food. I never turned my nose up at anything. And I believed with all my heart in the beautiful, encouraging words that came out of my fortune cookie, because I had to.
And then suddenly happiness came like a little cat and settled in my lap without an offer. The sunny mornings came back and I realized that happiness was not a destination, but a feeling I encountered on this journey. But now I knew that the rain would not fall forever and that the sun would always reappear in the end. I learned to trust that.
Just like I learned not to chase after that little cat called happiness. I left it alone. I let it come on its own.
Now, on this ordinary, sunny morning, surrounded by the little things I love so much, I consider myself lucky to be someone who can find a bit of magic in little things. "I am here," I say to myself, several times in a row. And with swallows in my eyes, I unwrap my fortune cookie from last night and cut it in half.
Just be patient, it says on the little piece of paper inside. Beauties you can't even imagine are waiting for you.
Stories of recovery - The tallest girl in the class
On Sunday afternoon, I find myself looking at my childhood photographs, having long forgotten that I am cleaning. I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor in my study, the photos spread out in front of me. The sun in the window is the color of Matisse's lemons. And I suddenly feel like that little girl again.
I hold a photograph between my hands. Schoolyard, early summer, elementary school play. The year 1992, maybe. A group of little girls in pink tutus. They are wearing bunny ears. They are doing ballet in the garden, under the bright sun, in front of the parents who are watching them with pride and a little bit of boredom.
I'm there too, but I'm not smiling, I'm the only one not smiling. Because, as usual, I'm at the back. I've been thrown to the back because I'm tall. I was always thrown to the back because I was tall. I hated it, I was so ashamed. I was the tallest girl in the class for as long as I can remember.
A bitter smile appears on my face as I look at the photo. I look at that little girl with compassion and I feel I would do anything to heal her wounds. But I can't turn back time. I can't hold her hands, I can't tell her that everything will be okay. It's too late for that now. There is something I can do, though. Right now, I can teach myself to own my story.
I close my eyes and as the sunlight warms my face, I remember everything. Yes, when I was a child I was very ashamed of being the tallest girl in my class. And I was taller than most of the boys, maybe even all of them. Well, I guess all of them...
It meant the end of the world. The boys I was in love with always came to my shoulder and never spoke to me. I knew they hated me because they pulled other girls' hair, but never mine. Or maybe they were afraid of me because I was tall.
In class, I would reluctantly sit in the back. I wanted to sit in the front, to listen to the lecture from the front, but that luxury belonged to other girls. Petite girls. Small girls. Girls of average height. But never tall girls. When I think about it, maybe the whole world belonged to these girls. I was just a figurehead among them.
That's how I learned to slouch. Sitting bent double, walking bent double to minimize my height. That's how I learned to make myself smaller. And it never even crossed my mind that being tall could be a good thing until that magical and strange day when I met a girl who was taller than me.
One day a new student came to class. This girl was at least a foot taller than me, but strangely enough, she didn't seem to mind it at all. In fact, she seemed proud of being tall. Her chin was always high, and her hair was stubbornly fluffy. In short, she was cool when she stood up and looked down on everyone.
I was no longer the tallest girl in class, she was the tallest girl in class. And she loved it! I was dumbfounded when I saw her behavior. And what shocked me even more was the admiration the other kids had for her. They had circled around her from the very first day. They loved him so much.
As for that girl! Unlike me, he never hid himself around the other children. He embraced being tall and didn't try to be someone else. I was witnessing something like this for the first time in my life. No one had ever told me that I could be myself around others.
Sometimes I would watch him from afar. I would feel a deep regret for being ashamed of myself all this time. Then I would realize that being tall is actually not a bad thing. And that if I own my story, if I accept myself as I am, others will eventually respect that.
I open my eyes slowly. I look at the photo again, at that sad, bunny-eared, tutu-clad girl. If I could, I would tell her to never be ashamed of being herself. That she should never hide herself from others. That being different is not a bad thing. That the best gift she can give herself is to own her own story.
I slowly place the photo back in the album, then close the album lid and put it in the closet. That's enough time travel for today. I don't want to teleport to the past anymore. I won't look at these photos for a long time. Besides, I have to clean before it gets dark, so I have to get to work as soon as possible.
And now, these days, when I am dealing with problems completely different from being tall, realizing that the root of these problems lies in the same state of self-concealment, I say the same thing to myself softly: "Never be ashamed of being yourself!"
Love in the story of another time
It was a warm spring evening. The man, the hero of our story, drove into his street that day to drop off one of the craftsmen he had hired for the renovations at his workplace. For the first time he saw her walking with her girlfriend at the beginning of that street. She looked very beautiful with her red hair flowing in the warm breeze as she walked. He didn't know what he was telling his friend, but his cheerful and sympathetic manner when he was telling her something gave him a different air and made him much more attractive.
He couldn't take his eyes off her as he watched with excitement as she pulled her car to the right a little further up the street to get a closer look at this young girl who was attracting him with her unique air.
His friend nudged the girl as she came over chatting with her friend;
Gemma, that boy in the car that passed by us looking at you stopped ahead? And he is still looking at you. Do you know him or not?
Gemma replied to her friend;
"No, I don't know him, but I'd have to be blind not to see him, he's staring at me," she smiled from the corner of her lips. He is a very handsome and charismatic man.
He thought he was saying it from his heart, but his friend said;
"You say this and that, but such people have owners, they never stay alone, so don't look in front of you anymore, then he'll think you're a light girl, and then he'll throw a stupid word at you, so you'd better not look in that direction."
Gemma couldn't take her eyes off the boy in the car with little evasive glances.
How beautiful he looked at her!
One's loved one should have such a beautiful look like her.
It should have melted like this
As he was looking at her...
For a moment they locked eyes with him. It was as if time stopped and they were swept off their feet.
Like in a love movie, their inner voices spoke.
This was an excitement Gemma had never experienced before.
It was as if she had met that young man somewhere years ago.
She felt a different familiarity with him.
Who knows, maybe this familiarity was even before she was born.
She had heard in a book that there is a place where souls wait before they come to earth.
"The other realm" and some souls who met and mingled there would immediately mingle when they met each other on earth.
Maybe their souls met there thousands of years ago and found each other, and now when their bodies met, they remembered each other.
What nonsense, so much emotion in a few seconds.
Maybe love was such a thing that fit thousands of years in seconds.
What nonsense was he talking about? Wasn't there too much meaning in a glance?
How beautiful those eyes were looking at him.
If only they had buried him in those pupils, I wish he had always lived there.
What was this series of feelings like moths circling inside her like the wind?
Was this what love at first sight was like?
While he was in the midst of these feelings, he was startled by his friend's pinch. With her mind, her eyes, her soul, she turned the corner of the street and walked away.
Gemma's mind was haunted for a short time by the feelings that those looks made her feel, and even if they never left her mind for a long time, they became less and less in her mind with time.
But she knew, she felt it. He didn't know that somewhere inside him, somewhere, one day, somewhere, with a feeling he felt, they would meet again with a coincidence. That's how he felt.
And the answer to this question was hidden in fate.
And one day, while buying the same book in a bookstore, their hands met in a book.
Note: I couldn't think of a good name. So I created a name called Gemma.
You're like a fairy tale I lived in the past on the streets of the city
A fairy tale comes to mind. Not so far back.
Then I talk to myself in a whisper.
Like a fairy tale I lived in the past or a journey close to the real one.
I think of the moments when my dreams, whose story is not postponed, turn into reality. I return to my essence, to my will, I see my essence.
I close my eyes. The anxiety of life has not started, their worries are so shallow.
There are many sentences to describe what happened after that day. Friendships growing like an avalanche and leaving the city...
When everyone retreated to their corners, it was as if the magic of the city was gone. The disappointments... The sentences that will reveal the winners and losers of this story have yet to be written. I don't know what happened after all that happened. I fall into a huge void after waves of unnamed sadness.
So many stories have accumulated in me. It's like a dam. I don't know when it will overflow. The place to tell is certain, but I can't predict the time.
Years pass. The color of your hair and beard is slowly changing. After a year and two years, after all this time, huge, huge screams spread wave after wave in my heart.
Who knows, this is a wave of longing, maybe a wave of disappointment.
"Again, again" says the voice of my heart.
To go back to where it all began? Maybe a miraculous touch is needed.
Then...someone says "come" to me. Face, tell, shout!
Suddenly a journey begins on a November day. Sometimes cold, sometimes warm... I am experiencing the harshest form of the journey.
I run to him with such pleasant feelings as if I had never experienced any obstacles...
Reaching her is so unique, so inadequate that I can't describe it.
The magic of the past days immediately comes before my eyes. I immerse myself in its streets and alleys... As if I had never left. I am so sure of myself as if I was walking on the streets I walked yesterday. I whisper softly to him about the things that have left my life. He doesn't object at all, he listens to me wholeheartedly.
On the other hand, I introduce new faces to my favorite city. I tell them what happened in the past, my story of coming out of asceticism.
I take a break, a tea break...
The fire of reunion has risen so high that the firmament seems to have heard me and the winds are blowing warmly in the November cold.
The city I love is such a city that the world appreciates it. The days are beautiful and the nights are beautiful! I didn't know which one to live in. If I were in another city, my answer is obvious! I would say: The days are hypocritical; powerless, slothful, miserable, unhappy, pathetic, weak and helpless... Why should I live in the daytime? I would say: "Oh nights, so realistic and simple, so vigorous and vigorous" and I would dive into the nights.
This city is like two worlds and two planets in one day. Everyone's love, infatuation and fight are on the streets. That's why it is so simple and realistic.
I have lived in this city a lot in the daytime. Its story is very familiar.
I made my decision. I was going to meet the night this time.
There are three of us, close to dawn. We are walking. There is no sound other than the sound of our feet. How fascinating it is to experience another sound of the streets whose every sound I know. New sounds, new colors. The chaos of the day and the silence of the night both in the same day. What a great life experience. My life was like the chaos of the day in the past.
The story of the night continues. The speed of my steps is changing and I don't realize it. "Stop, the people next to me say stop!" Where are you going? Who are you running from? They don't understand me. Or they don't want to understand. The speed of my steps is not because I want to run away but because I want to write a new life story.
After years my blood is boiling. I meet with different textures everywhere. I throw away the pestilent winds that restrain my heart.
This is my new story. And I want to bring that story together with thousands of stories. I don't know if I can tell it.
@mariegillesp
