Home-cooked dinner.

Warm long shower.

Smelling like a baby freshly buttered with almond oil.

Dressed in a mountie-themed adult onesie.

Snuggled in bed.

Warm tea on the night stand.

Spotify playlist “Boho + Chill”, Shuffle Play.

Latest seven relatively untouched editions of The New Yorker on lap.


happiness achieved





Happiness is a tragically difficult topic to write. It seeps into every pore, and quietly settles in the backseat. Only when it has left, do you notice its vacancy. Notice the warm imprint in the cushion. By then, it has blended in the crowd. You won’t even remember its scent.