story

All my life, I have always embraced the idea of being happy. So much that somehow I forgot to acknowledge the beauty of melancholy.
I know it sounds strange. Doesn't it?
Well to make it clear to you I am not a sadist neither a masochist. All I am saying is that I accept sadness. Instead of chasing for a glimpse of exuberance I tend to have a knack of enjoying everything life has to offer me.
Yesterday while sitting idly on the speedy rickshaw venturing through narrow paths of Bashundhara, I was admiring the scenic beauty of nature. I observed barren trees standing against each other; providing each other the comfort they seek during wintry days.
Somehow the tangles of misery, of withered leaves, the sign of desolation opened my eyes and helped me to look at things from a different angle.
Usually philosophers would come up with their sadness, writers would talk about their lack of energy, singers would croon about their hopes for the arrival of spring. However amidst all of it, I noticed how far they've come and how they withstood every season yet never gave up.
That is why I found pain beautiful and miseries worth enduring. In other words, it's not about smiles and laughter, sometimes tears and anguish compel you to become someone stronger and wiser.