One can only hope

I've been reading. Again. Big shock. In case I haven't mentioned it, I'm the biggest book nerd that ever walked the planet. Not useful stuff either. Random fiction books that have little or no impact/relevance to my life atm, but they make me feel better, and I've decided that, seeing it's my life, I'm entitled to do whatever the fuck I want with it. So I will. On this note, I've read two books in the past two days: Maureen McCarthy's A Rose By Any Other Name, and Melina Marchetta's Looking for Alibrandi. Technically I've already read Looking for Alibrandi (eight times - oops XD) but it's worth it. Anyway, they've made me think. The one thing that everyone strives for above all else in life is happiness, right? We scramble for money because we think that if only we were rich, we could have everything that we ever wanted, and that would equate to happiness. We sell ourselves short in relationships because we think, if only this person will love me then I am worthy of happiness. We starve ourselves and run ourselves into the ground because if only we were so fit and so beautiful then we would be happy. Of course we would. Unequivocally. Right?
It's struck me that I am an unambitious person. Or maybe I'm just not desperate to be overwhelmingly happy. Maybe because it always seems to me like that level of elation is so strong that it's going to fizzle out, and everything will seem darker afterwards.
Don't get me wrong. I'm very into the sparkler kind of happiness. I know that even though everything gets plunged into twilight for a bit, you're always going to light up another one, even at the most unexpected moments. Maybe it's just that I don't expect it to last forever. All those people out there who gamble everything on that kind of happiness and then it fails, they're left with nothing. Everyone always says that I am too laid-back for my own good. I am the epitome of going with the flow. Not always a good thing. Especially when exams are a week away and you've decided your time would be better spent trawling deviantart for amazing inspiring photographs instead of studying. But it also means that I've never wound myself up really tightly, never pinned every hope that I have on one thing. Like my best friend from my old school, Cloudy, has set his sights on being a paramedic. That's great, and if he gets there, kudos for him. But I've always been one of those people whose life would be absolutely perfect as long as I have a good supply of milo, a house with more than one room and a car - no matter how much of a bomb it is. I'm going to end up in a backwater town in a shabby shack house with garage sale furniture and a crapped-out lemon of a car twenty years past its use-by date and a cat that eats more than I do because I'll have spent my food money on a CD. And this would sound completely abhorrent to most people, exactly what they're trying to avoid. But to me it sounds perfect. As long as I can write, and it rains and there's an evening breeze, I'll be - maybe not consumed with happiness. But if there's one thing that's better than happiness, it's hope. Having something to look forward to beats happiness every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Long as I've got hope, I'm sweet on life. Chuu.