Your Happiness Does Not Make Me Happy
It was 7:20 pm when he arrived for a visit. He sat on the sofa. He had a big smile on his face, his eyes sparkled.
I was excited for him and, at the same time, taken aback. I had never seen him like this before, at least not in the nearly 20 years I’ve known him.
Yesterday, unlike any other day, his energy radiated from his body. You could feel how he savored every detail, and spoke about the little things, nature, sunsets, and perfect corners. He was whole; he was happy.
A conflict within me grew. My mind wandered as I looked at him, wondering, is this the same person who hurt so many around him a few years ago? The one who left indelible wounds in his family with words and actions?
Simply put, he seems like another person.
I congratulated him and acknowledged the courage of his change. I spoke about how this transformation could only bring positive things to his life, for him and for those new people who now enjoy his company, or rather, this new version.
However, something didn’t feel quite right.
While he has found peace, his family remains wounded, still bleeding. They continue trying to ignore the remnants of the past, turning away to avoid looking pain in the eyes.
The emotional aftermath remains in those who surrounded him when he was that other person when pain clouded his vision and made him forget the love he professed. Those moments when he didn’t radiate light; he was only darkness, resentment, and pride.
He has found the path that those who loved him have not been able to find yet.
He now enjoys what those who loved him are still struggling to attain.
He has found the light while those who saw his darkness are still searching for an exit.
Lives around him took turns they never saw coming and were unprepared for. They had no choice but to face that new reality alone; he wasn’t there for them, didn’t think about it, didn’t care.
My mind continued to wander as I listened to him. From his mouth, only positivity flowed. While I partially enjoyed his stories and his evolution as a person, I couldn’t help but feel compassion for those who don’t enjoy this version of him today. Those who endured him, justified him, and loved him despite everything, but now only carry on their backs the pain caused by his darker version.
Yesterday, as I looked at him, I wondered, what is the ethical responsibility of our happiness? If there were even a divine entity of justice, should we be allowed to feel so happy when we haven’t repaired those we’ve hurt? Is it okay to be happy when we remain blind to the pain we caused?
Unfortunately, I could only think: Your happiness does not make me happy.
