I’m Not Sad, But I’m Not Happy Either

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I’m not sad, but I’m not happy either. It’s like living inside a lukewarm afternoon—neither cold enough to shiver nor warm enough to comfort me. Everything feels muted, as though the world has been wrapped in a thin pale fabric. I can still move, I still do all the things I’m supposed to do, but they feel lightless.

As if I’ve misplaced something important and I can’t remember what it was.

There was a time when happiness came so easily. I didn’t have to go looking for it. It just arrived on its own. A familiar song on the radio. A cup of tea that was just the right temperature. The lazy orange glow of late afternoon sunlight on my bedroom wall. Back then, these things were enough to make my chest feel light. I never imagined they could slip away without a sound.

Now, even the things I used to love feel like they’ve been drained of color.

I still notice them—my favorite berries tea, the sunlight I used to capture—but I notice them the way I notice old photographs. I feel a sense of distance, as though they belong to another version of me. I keep thinking maybe I’ll wake up one morning and find that version again, the one who could smile widely without wondering if it looked real.

Sometimes I try anyway. I stand in front of the mirror and curl my lips upward. It’s strange, how much effort it takes to look like myself. The reflection smiles back, but there’s a faint emptiness in her eyes, as if she’s looking past me at something I can’t see.

I want to reach into the glass, take her by the hand, and pull her out into the light.

I tell myself it’s not gone forever, that happiness is still here somewhere, resting in a quiet corner of my mind. Maybe it’s just waiting for the right season to return. People always say that feelings change, that nothing stays the same forever. I’m holding on to that thought gently, as if I might hold a fragile cup that could crack if I grip it too hard.

For now, even if I exist in the in-between, I’ll try my best to keep walking forward, even when the road is foggy. I try to trust that eventually, I’ll stumble upon a moment that feels like home again.

And when I do, I hope I’ll be ready—ready to take it in fully, to smile widely, and to remember what it’s like to feel light again.

Love, Oi.

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