People often say happiness is something big, loud, and sparkling. But for me, it’s always found in the quiet moments.
I wake up to the soft rustle of my mom watering her plants, humming a song she probably made up on the spot. The smell of breakfast sneaks through the hallway, and I know the day is already off to a good start. Our home isn’t fancy, but it’s full of warmth—books, blankets, and laughter tucked into every corner.
Dad is usually in the kitchen when I walk in, dancing terribly and singing even worse, just to make me laugh. His suit jacket might be waiting on the back of a chair, but he never leaves without sitting down for breakfast. No matter how busy he gets, he always makes time for us.
In the evenings, we all gather around the table. No phones, no distractions—just us, trading stories about our days. It’s the kind of tradition that makes everyday feel important, even the ordinary ones.
My room is my little sanctuary, full of sunshine from yellow curtains and notes from my older brother stuck to the wall. He’s always been my biggest cheerleader, even when he’s pretending not to care. Before big tests or dance recitals, I’ll find his scribbled words waiting for me: “You’ve got this.” “Good luck today.” It means more than he probably knows.
Weekends aren’t about fancy vacations. They’re about pancakes in pajamas, walks in the park, and board games that turn into full-on family competitions. We laugh until we can’t breathe, and somehow, it always feels like the best day.
Sometimes I look around and just feel full—of love, of safety, of knowing I matter. Not because I have to prove anything, not because I’ve done something amazing, but just because I’m me. And in this house, that’s always been enough.
– Alex