Writing of Joy

To write about joy is not to flaunt one’s blessings; it is not to claim that one has something others have been deprived of; it is not to deem one to be more blessed than those around them.

To write about joy is an extension of gratitude. To share the warmth one feels inside is to encourage others to find those moments that make the heart skip a beat – documenting them for days that aren’t as bright, as a reminder that life isn’t a continuum of endless darkness.

So I write of joy.

Moments that make the heart flutter; that make me sing as though I am my own audience; that make me want to give of myself without reserve; that make me forget that it rained and will most likely rain sometime soon; that make me notice even the little jig an ant does when it’s found its provisions to take back to the nest; that cause my children to wonder ‘what’s up with mummy today?’

Today I write of that joy, because too often life’s trials suck the life out of us; souls drift in an attempt to exist, but are merely parked in the realm of those who have already departed. Today I write to break the cycle. To claim joy as my own, of my own, and to be my own; to wear a crown of celebration without fear of being jaded by the possibility of sadness; to find comfort in the joy of loving, being loved and having loved to only love a little more.

Today I write not to erase the sadness in the world, as we have enough to recreate a multitude of universes of sadness; I write not to bury my head in the sand about suffering and injustice; I write not to cocoon myself from the toppled balances, the hurt, the bloodshed.

Today I write because too often life’s trials suck the life out of us, so today I write to re-inject life.

© LaYinka Sanni, September 2013.


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