Daisy Bomb

Mood: happy; neutral; thoughtful
Currently: getting distracted from my mountain of history homework
Listening to: El Manana --Gorillaz

I finally went back to reading Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin and it's very interesting. It gives dying a whole different aspect, I kind of thought of the same idea, which intrigued me even more. Basically it's about this girl who dies at fifteen who then she goes to Elsewhere (Heaven, as we know it), only to learn that she was going to grow younger until she was back to being a baby, where she would then be sent back to Earth to be born. While reading, I felt something. I wasn't depressed reading about a girl who felt like she had so many things left she wanted to do back on Earth. But I wasn't too sure what emotion I had that would have made sense. I found an interesting part.

"'Were you happy?' asks Aldous.
Liz thinks about Aldous's question. 'Why do you want to know?'
'Don't worry. It's not a test. It's just something I like to ask all my advisees.'
In truth, she hadn't put much thought into whether she was happy before. She supposed that since she never thought about it, she must have been happy. People who are happy don't really need to ask themsleve if they are happy or not, do that? They just are happy, she thinks.
'I suppose I must have been happy,' Liz says. And as soon as she says it, she knows it's true. One silly errant teardrop runs out of the corner of her eye. Liz quickly brushes it away. A second tear follows, and then a third, and it isn't long before she finds she is crying."

And as I read that, I didn't feel depressed, it was more like mystified. I wondered if it was just the individual, the writer, or us. As far as I know, I've only met people who asked themselves, who've sometimes asked me if they were really happy--as if I had a response for them, especially when they didn't have a response for themself. Are there really just individuals on Earth who've never really thought of themself as unhappy or particularlly miserable, or was that just the author's doing? Or maybe, is it just us? Do we think we don't have a happy life or that we are unfortunate? Are we expecting too much out of "happiness"? Do we think too much about what happiness is and want more than we should? Or is it that life is just what it is? Unfair, cruel, mean, harsh, tough, and gives us more suffering than it gives us joy? I wonder.
I want to be Daisy.