SOY FELIZ
Influxed with the weight of a new language, my mind supplicates me to allow expression in the old. When you stop using your arm, it gets weaker, and less capable—less apt to act quickly. But nonetheless it will be overcome with an itch to move, to be used, to strengthen again. Forward of this day I won’t cease to let my mind dabble and swagger as it attempts to flex its old English strength, once set aside, now commencing a new flourish again.
In spanish we have the verb SER and the verb ESTAR. Both mean 'to be', but SER is much more permanant, and ESTAR more temporary. Conjugated in the third person plural, they read like so: SON and ESTAN. To say 'They are american' something that they are integrally, you use the verb SER, like this: 'SON americanos". To say "They are tired", something that will pass with a bit of sleep, you use the verb ESTAR, like this: 'ESTAN cansados'.
The point of that short spanish lesson was to tell you that there are people who ESTAN felices, or who ARE happy, and there are people who SON felices, still said ARE happy. Note the difference.
My days here have caused me to realize that part of life is the happiness found therein. We decide how important, or rather, how prevalent this part is. To complain of its lack is to announce incapability to take choice, or rather control, over one’s own emotions. A great friend here taught me that we are constantly presented with a choice: to exist happily, or to exist sorrowfully. It’s nothing more than that. A simple choice determines our demeanor, and it is ours to make, with help from God. If we only elect the route of the joyful, if we could constantly retain a force left within us to choose happiness over sorrow, if we never lost the hope that is that choice, we should never lose the happiness that keeps old women laughing, unjustly jailed men smiling, and abused children loving.
posted by dey at 2:12 PM
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