Happiness

    
   

   It always started with the musics. Loud beats, fast rhythms, with its sound echoing through the mountains. Before I started, I looked down the hill from where I was standing. Mountains in horizon were all I could see. As if I were standing at the edge of a cliff I could not actually see what was down the hill. I stood there, acting like a climber who managed to the top of Mountain Annapurna. After I took a big breath, I let my ski be drifted away by the stiffness of the slope.

   Feeling the wind passing by my ears, I was as free as seagulls. As speed increased, all I could hear was sound of wind along with rhythms. More turns, blanker the mind became. Heavy burdens I was carrying throughout-troubles, homeworks, expectations- seemed to dilute into whiteness of the snow. For a short, fast moment, I was completely free of things that suffocated my adolescence. During skiing, nothing mattered but the speed, the rhythm and the moment.

   Skiing was like a refuge from my life with distractions. Concentrating on the most simple and instinctive things. When the stress overwhelmed me, I went to ski with sudden impulse. There I would shut my eyes for a while and stood up on a low hill. Feeling the 'moment' again, I continued to ski in the way I liked until tangled things in my life unraveled.

   Every time I went to ski, snow greeted me with same still colour. The colour white. It was a colour of dignity. It was always honest, clear and straight forward free from other colours. People drew lines of their own, riding in their own styles. Sprinkling snow every turn, they made smooth drawings of their own.

I loved everything related to skiing. Even songs with ridiculous lyrics became my favourite. I loved the process of preparing to ski, the very sound of it, and even the way it was pronounced. Like a spiritual ceremony, everything involved in the preparation was sacred; tying up my boots, washing thick gloves, driving to ski resort. Even holding heavy ski equipments and walking to the slope was a part I could heartfully enjoy.

   I even appreciated falling down. I fell down frequently. When I fell down, I really did fall down. Making big fancy poses with shame, which over weighed my pain. When there was a crack in a concentration I was building on, the moment was broken and began to falter. A few seconds later, I would find my ski pole flying across the slope, my head placed downward and my legs crossed from side to side. Snow and pieces of ice rushed into my sweater and melted slowly tickling the back. Those stark coldness and sharpness were slaps not only in skiing but also in my dull, repeated life, telling me to wake up. It was a cold and attractive refreshments. With my feet numb-even hurt- and nose red, I thanked shrilly coldness sneaking inside my bones.

   Ski rebooted my over-heated life. By the time I had to leave-by the time I was completely soaked in snow and sweat-I got exhausted. Although my body felt as heavy as ever, things I carried in my head became clear and cool. On my way home and for days, I soaked myself again in the feelings I had during skiing.

 

   No matter how I loved skiing, thinking of it did not help anymore. Promises of next winter did not console me either. Last winter, when I skied at least twice a week, was the happiest winter ever been. I knew too well, though, a winter like that would never come at least in next five or six years.

   My parents had told me one day:

   'Well... I think is about the time you concentrate on studying. Don't you think? Later you will find that you actually don't have enough time for that.'

   I was sixteen. It was an age of changes. I often heard people around telling me that next five or six years were very important ones in my life, that it could change everything. So I needed to think carefully what I wanted to do and pour my 'passion' into it. I also knew too well by 'things I wanted to do', they did not include skiing.

   People told me those things, wishing me the best. The best for them was to be happy in the future. Some really wanted me to take the heartful advises, for they did not want me to regret on the things they had. For brighter and happier life.

   However, bright happy life for me was not something big and fancy. It was rather small bits and pieces of happy moments in present adding up to big things. Nonetheless, I was expected to, and would spend my next five to six years like everyone else around me. Going to mathematics institutions trying to understand vectors and trigonometric, learning how to memorize things effectively, finding out good tips on how to score better at tests. For happier life.

   Some tried to console me by saying that even if the skiing looked like a great deal to me, I would soon forget it once I 'grew up'. I needed to concentrate on things that actually mattered in my life, they said.

Maybe, they were right. Maybe I was too young to foresee the things in the future. Leaving things up to adults' discretion often turned out to be wise and helpful. Maybe I would realise in the future, skiing was not a big deal at all. That it was wise of me to focus on more 'important things'. Later I might as well forget nearly all about it-the freedom, the concentration, sheer nothingness and the rhythm. Along with one happiness forgotten in my life.

Changing. Losing. Regretting.