My days have been hectic. My days have been busy. My days have been…some of the best ones I’ve lived.

You see me running to work early just so I can have fifteen minutes to just breath. You see me staying in the library or finding some abandoned study room for some quiet time to study. You see me fidgeting with my pens anxiously, running my hand through my hair in frustration, rustling through my papers panicking, and filling this body with more caffeine than it should take.

But, honest, when my friend told me he hasn’t been as happy as he is now when his life is consists of an insanely busy schedule probably built to exhaust a human being the second their eyes open, I didn’t believe him. I thought, how is that even possible?! I watched him come to class late almost every session. I watched him drink cups of coffee each and every time, eat his lunch or dinner during class, and then hurry off to wherever the hell he goes afterwards (no one ever knows because he is always too busy to answer his phone). I mean, honest, how can someone be so, so happy with a life like that?

Then, I saw him standing outside one of the school buildings briefly talking to a small group of friends before our class. He was early, for once. He was smiling and laughing, and I could just feel the happiness in his voice. I saw how his eyes lit up when he laughed, and I couldn’t be any more happy for him.

During that small encounter with him, I was the one rushing around. I was checking off one thing after another that I needed to get done before class started. I was running from one end of campus to the other and back. I was exhausted and I could feel my body yearning for some rest, but I was so happy.

I was being so productive. I was being in-control of my time. It was the best feeling. Usually, I’m not as busy as I was that month. Usually, I have time to watch a show or two during the weekend. But as I got busier and as I watched myself get so much done, despite how much my body screamed for me to stop working, I was proud of myself.

And, in all of that, I had set a side some time for my close friends. Every other day or so I respond to one of my friends and continue our email-like conversation through WhatsApp. Every once in a while, I write and look back at old photographs. Sure, I am not insanely busy as my friend has been for the past two years of his life but I’m managing to live a life that most people wouldn’t volunteer for. And that is great.

I am so proud of my friend, and I’m starting to become proud of myself.

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