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I enjoy happiness so rarely in retrospect. I remember the physical and emotional scars well enough, with details, for long periods of time. But happiness feels like a fleeting moment in my short life. And how untrue that is!

Today, I┬árevisited my wonderful trip to France triggered by a memory of a random walk in a park where we saw a Gandhi statue. Then I went back to my post about Paris and I realised I had missed this and many other high moments of that trip. Including describing the sheer joy of visiting Shakespeare and Co. How does one ensure that these memories or moments help define us? The happy, elated, ecstatic ones? Not merely the bitter, angry and sullen ones. Pain and loss have a remarkable way of shaping us. I know this well and I wouldn’t change how those moments have changed me. But happiness or even not-sad moments have much to teach; I have much to learn from them. For instance, to hold onto these moments. To remember that it defines me as much as the low points. To realise that these highs bring meaning to my life.