This diary belongs to Happy

I saw a store named "Happy". Kitchen ware, decoration pieces, and lights. It took me back in time, to what seems like ages ago.

A precocious child, I was the center of my universe. I thought a lot of my self. Who I was, who I'd grow up to be: not in terms of professions, but the person I would be.

When I was twelve years old, I decided I'd always be happy. If not inside, then definitely on the out side. Anyone who would ever look at me would think 'there goes a happy person'. I'd never let anyone see me down, or sad. I'd never let anyone guess what I was really thinking. I'd never let anyone in that close. I would be the target of their envy, for always smiling thus.

Notice all the "would"s? I was twelve, for Gods sake!

On the first page of a miniature diary, I printed neatly: This diary belongs to Happy.

No shit.