This is what happiness looks like

This is what happiness looks like.

My husband's hand 

searching for mine in the dark 

while baby breastfeeds to sleep,

a gentle breeze

floating into the room,

rustling the curtains.

The rumble of cars zooming past,

while my sister and I tell jokes 

at a kopitiam, 

my dad, ordering some wantan noodles,

laughing at baby

who walks, 

becoming less babylike.

My mother, emerging

from the doctor's room, victorious,

her x ray results, perfect, 

her heart, full. 

A friend texting me

to say hello, did you know

that cherries at the nearest grocers

are on sale?

How's baby, 

how're you?

How're you?

Happiness, she had always been there.

All I had to do was to look out 

for her light

in my daughter's eyes, 

as she jangles the housekeys,

her mouth agape at the music she makes.  

Little did I know that

happiness lurked around

in a bowl of wantan soup,

the glorious rain pouring after days of stifling heat,

my husband rubbing my shoulders

as we walk to the food court,

wondering what to eat,

baby in tow, babbling. 

I must be lucky, so, so lucky.