Happy endings? Personally, I was no big fan of happy endings. I used to think that they’re… a big lie the adults manufactured for us to hope that at the end of this crappy thing called life, there’s still something to look forward to. How could they ask us to believe in that happy ending when we’re all surrounded with married couples separating, with people cheating, with cheaters being publicly glorified in movies and tv series? I mean, seriously?
Two words with no meaning, well, at least for me.
I used to hate it, really, because I did not like to think of myself as someone who feeds lies to people who read my stories.
Then I grew older… and weirdly enough, my pessimism seemed to have subdued. I learned to… see life in a bigger perspective. Maybe with a more forgiving eyes? I don’t know for sure. Sometimes, I think I’m getting soft, but what’s wrong with being softer? It’s not easy to be tough all the time. It’s not easy to pretend that I can always do things alone. Most of the times, I just want someone to comfort me, and tell me lies like there’s a happy ending waiting for me. Is that so bad?
Life is hard—sometimes, too hard, even.
Living in reality is hard enough that people chose fiction as an escape. As a writer, I used to choose to serve my personal interest. I write stories the way I find comfortable; I end stories the way I envision them to end—nevermind my readers who are hoping for that happily ever after that everyone deserves. I used to think that I’m cool because I can write without caring how others perceive my work. I mean, it wasn’t as if I begged anyone to read my stories. Read at your own discretion, right? But honestly, as I grew older, as I become more exposed to the harsh realities of life, I just want… one piece of that happily ever after. I mean, I still believe it’s a lie, but now, I don’t mind feeding into the lie if it means I get to believe—even for just a second—that life is still worth living.
That there’s still something worth to look forward to.
And whenever I write, I always put a piece of myself in every character that I make. And when my readers think that that character—that someone who I have put a piece of myself in—deserves to receive a happy, fulfilling ending, it gives me that hope that I will have my happy ending, too. After all, if someone so much like me could have a happy ending, why can’t I?