A lot of time life seems a big taggle of worry to me. It starts from the basic mandane subject of clothes, food, job, house, transportation, to the higher-level subject in persistant pursuit of a true identity and eternal happiness. After I got a husband, such worries are doubled. After we got a baby, such worries are octopouled. For I have become a parent, and I worry about our parents, old now.

Outside my tiny world, the big world seems to have made itself a even bigger taggle of worries to itself. Everyday the headlines in New York Times are how many people died in Iraq. Sometimes, it is how many people died in Isreal. Sometimes in the other part of the world. There are worries on global warming and oil price, there are worries from the housing market, subprime credit market, medical insurance, drug safety, food safety, toy safety, divorce, scam… The local newspaper of course cover the 17th people’s representative meeting, but what people really enjoy are the “Nanny Kidnapped Baby!”, “Fire on top of the tallest building in Asia!”, “Paris embrassed herself, Again!”. People say all they want is happiness. But in reality, people seem to enjoy sufferings, others of course, but maybe even their own.

For me, worry have become a habit, something like brushing teeth in the morning. A subconscious things-to-worry list, aside from things-to-do list, have to be there in the back of my mind everyday. A few days ago, I suddenly noticed I was not worried about anything. I felt uneasy, I felt out of sorts about myself, as if I am not important enough, and I couldn’t find my self-worth.

 This morning, I noticed D is shorter. Oh, poor D, he worked too hard and he has shrinked into an old man. I exclamed:” What did you do to yourself? Why are you shorter? My head used to be on your shoulder, why is it on your eye level now? ”

“You are wearing slippers, and I am not.”

I kicked off my slippers. He pulled me in front of him and we stood up straight, face to face.

My head is indeed still at his shoulder level, my forehead the same level as his lips.

He took the opportunity and kissed my forhead, “See, it has always been here. Always.”

I felt heat coming to my eyes, and I hear that poem in my ears: ”They say happiness is not fair,  I don’t dare…”