Bliss.

'Happiness depends upon ourselves'-Aristotle

When I was in the third grade, my younger sister and I used to wait on the porch for the school bus, every morning. Number 23 school was all the way on the other side of town. There were closer schools, but this was nothing like a regular public school-it was a 'good' one. The education was exceptional and I loved my school. I was happy there. I think my mother used my grandparents' address just so we could attend that one and avoid going to the nearby public elementary school (for the obvious reasons that most parents avoid 'public' schools) My Mom, 26 at the time, was working the grueling seven-to-eleven shifts as a Licensed Practical Nurse. My sister and I had to wait an extra-30 minutes after my Mom left, for the bus to come. Ulrica, Mom's long-time friend, who was more like an extended Auntie, lived in the first-floor apartment. Sometimes, she would let us watch The Power Rangers in her living room, until the bus came. Other time we just sat on the porch.

Waiting...

My sister and I were latch-key kids, living in the Northeast part of town, in a hood' laden with crackheads, fatherless kids, adolescent criminals etc. I was 8-years old. The porch room that my sister and I shared was a haven. It was narrow and cold, yet, cozy. My sister was only six-years old and slept in the bed with my Mom still, so I had that little area to myself (although, I'd sneek into bed with my Mom sometimes). In spite of the roaches and occasional mice, I actually loved being in the small, two-bedroom apartment on Hollenbeck street. I felt safe; but only inside of the house. One day, while I was riding my big-wheel in the abandoned parking lot, two houses away, I was stopped by two Puerto-Rican boys who lived in the neighborhood. They were around 10-12 years old. One of them opened his hand right in front of my face and said, 'hey, you wanna try...this?' I was stunned at the sight of the green herbs in his hands. He shoved it into his pocket, they both laughed at me and then walked away. That disturbed me and I think that was when I officially started hating my neighborhood. Somehow, as an eight-year-old girl, I found it embarrassing: embarrassing that I lived in a place where ten-year olds toting weed was even considered 'cool.' Drugs were bad-and back then, weed was no different from cocaine in my youthful eyes.

My mother smoked weed at the time as well. I hated it. I used to hide her joints-sometimes, I would wrap them up in foil and push them down into the garbage can when I knew her home girls were coming over. In my mind, it was oppressive, uneducated and it seemed like only low-lives smoked it. Like those stupid Puerto-Rican kids in the street. So, for it to be associated with my mother, it didn't sit well with me. 'People with sense shouldn't be putting drugs in their body-period,' I thought. My mom was a great mother-ill-tempered and mean at times, but she took good care of us. Ironically, I despised the fact that she brought herself down with the alleged 'mood elevator.'

Anyways

203 Hollenbeck was the very-first stop that the bus made each day-my house. The driver was a mean-black lady with long nails, a full-weave and a bad attitude to match- always yelling at somebody. She was pure-evil and actually scary to look at. The 'bus-matron,' was a dark-brown skinned lesbian, with little doo-doo dreads, and a fat round face. She dressed in baggy jeans and over sized shirts and wore the bright-orange vest like a crossing guard. The 'matron' was nicer than the driver, but the driver was prettier. My sister and I would laugh at how fat, sloppy and gay the matron was. We both thought she looked a mess and was not a 'lady' in any capacity. We were obsessed with 'booty, titties and feet' and at the time. Those very natural things, were the subject of raucous, six and eight-year-old girl laughter. The fact that this woman was so unwomanly, with a very big-bust, was ironic-and really odd to us. Not only was this woman an eyesore-but she made me sick-literally. The funk of 'Vanilla Fields' perfume was something I had to bear EVERY DAY. She would dowse her entire body in it and walk up and down the isles of the bus, permeating the air with this disgusting fragrance. As a result, I would leave the bus nauseated, dizzy, and disoriented, EVERY DAY. I DREADED the 45 minute bus ride. I would have rather done math-homework than sit through the ride to and from school. (and I HATE math) The sight of the bus just pulling up in front of my house brought a queasy feeling to the pit of my stomach. When we would finally arrive in front of my school-there was a change: a sense of overwhelming relief would come over me. My heart jumped and my entire mood altered-I was...happy.

I loved school. I loved Miss Gourdine, and I loved learning.

My little discomforts, I almost always ignored. My mom was very strong, and I had to be strong too. (No choice but to suck it up) Always the 'mature and responsible child' I took my age and allegiance to my mother very seriously (probably because I was by my mother's side since she was 18-years old). Yet, my sister was more light-hearted and she balanced out my intensity. Dae-Dae was always joking and she took life with a grain of salt. She and I had fun making fun of the things we didn't understand at the time. Sometimes we got cursed-out for being too rowdy, or even whooped. I hated seeing my sister get in trouble-even when she was dead-ass wrong. Dae-Dae's pain was like my pain and mine like her's. We were each other's source of laughter. We brought each other happiness. We brought my mother happiness, too.

Yesterday afternoon, I was on a bus coming back to New York from D.C. I felt sick as soon as I set foot aboard. I had some pancakes a little earlier which were not agreeing with my stomach. I felt like I was back in the third grade, going to 23-school with the lesbian bus matron and that repulsive aroma. Before we pulled off, the driver took a vote: 'who wants to watch a movie?' Most hands went up, including mine. The movie was 'The Pursuit of Happyness' with Will Smith. This was a movie that I had intentions on watching, but never got around to.

That had to be one of the best movies that I have ever seen. The struggles that Will Smith experienced as a man trying to make it; a father; an honest, and diligent hard-worker. It epitomized the term, 'the beautiful struggle.' It really made me appreciate what I have and how God allows us to go through some really tough times-which we never understand while we're going through it-but, with some faith, persistence, and a little patience, we always seem to overcome. We will always find happiness: as well as appreciation. He will always see us through. The 'bus-ride' feelings brought me back to my childhood: the nausea, the dread-but I knew what to expect. It's crazy how some things never change-but once you have experienced something ill-it becomes easier the next time you have to deal with it. And like the daily third-grade bus rides, although Will Smith's journey in the movie was far from a cakewalk, he prevailed. He reached his destination: happiness. He kept pursuing what was important and he finally found joy.

The most amazing thing about happiness is that it dwells within us.

We can all reach happiness. But like Aristotle said, it is something we must attain on our own. Sometimes it takes a rough ride or a few failures to find it. Yet, if we continue to look..and if we can just make it through that journey-that rocky, rigid path- those hurtful rejections- those strenuous situations- or even that sickening bus ride- it's there. Pleasure, joy, delight, fruit, fortune or whatever you want to call it. Waiting for us to arrive...