The Pursuit of Sadness

Think about the last time you felt overjoyed, truly happy. You smiled, you laughed, maybe even felt like the whole world was on your side. Then, night came, and you fell asleep. When you woke up, was the happiness still there? Or did it fade away like a dream? Now think of a time when sadness held you. You slept with it, woke up with it, and somehow, it stayed constant, like an old friend.

People often advise, “Stay positive, be hopeful, everything will fall into place.” But what if it doesn’t? Sometimes, suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It just hurts. So, I don’t cling to hope. I think you don’t even need hope. Just hoping that everything will be fine is an excellent excuse to not take responsibility for your life. It’s true that there are things we can’t control, but you still need to make choices.

So, I gave up on hope. Instead, I prepare for the worst, rock bottom, the ultimate disaster (There’s always a deeper rock bottom than the one you imagined). Anyway, I ask myself, What’s the darkest thing that could happen? I imagine it, let it settle in my mind, and brace myself. I don’t rely on the promise of light, but I do find immeasurable power in darkness and confronting it head-on.

The opposite word for happiness, according to Google, is sadness. But happiness isn’t an alternative to sadness. Happiness doesn’t erase sadness; it’s just a distraction, a fleeting reprieve from life’s heaviness. Basically, it only covers up for a while. But sadness? Sadness feels real. Now, I have stopped fighting sadness. And maybe you should too. You try to do a zillion things to make yourself happy, but that won’t make your sadness leave. It’s totally a waste of time. When I stopped fighting sadness, I could see that it wasn’t an enemy. It disarmed itself and lay beside me. Sadness whispered: “Why do you make it a point to make me go away? Am I that bad? I’m here for you, but if you want to fight, so be it. But even if I lose, I’m still here. You’ll find me.”

On some days, sadness comes out of nowhere, like a sudden storm, and it feels heavy, overwhelming. It feels as though it might consume you. But here’s the paradox of sadness : smaller pains often fade away when bigger, heavier sorrows take their place as if the sadness itself teaches you how to carry it’s weight. And yet, even in its weigh, sadness brings clarity, a strange kind of grounding that joy rarely provides.

The little heartbreaks of yesterday are forgotten in the face of today’s bigger trials. Struggles, pain, and sadness are all inevitable; we can’t avoid them, but we can choose them. And while we often forget our victories, our defeats etch themselves deeply into our life scripts.

Sadness has a way of showing up when happiness retreats. The brightest days give way to nights where memories haunt you. I’ve had days where I felt pure joy, but as the night crept in, I remembered what was missing, who wasn’t there, thoughts of dreams unfulfilled. And just like that, the happiness of the day was gone, leaving me alone with sadness. And somehow, I felt more comfort in the latter.

Happiness is beautiful too, precisely because it’s fleeting. Its impermanence makes us cherish it more, makes us want to live a worthwhile life. If life were permanent, if we were immortal, would we even feel the urgency to make something of it? It’s the transient nature of life that pushes us to create, to love, to leave a mark. Everything that doesn’t last becomes precious. But still, for me, sadness remains more than an emotion. It’s a silent partner, a constant. It lives in that cozy corner of my heart that never betrays me, never leaves, no matter what.

My mother once said, “Trust the ones who stay with you, the ones who hold you even when the world falls apart.” And you know what? Sadness has never left me. It has stayed when happiness disappeared, showing me truths I couldn’t see before. Happiness inflates the ego, but sadness softens the heart. It teaches you to care about yourself, about others, about life.

When someone leaves your life and you move on, what lingers is the sadness—an echo of their presence. It becomes the thread that ties you to them, even as everything else fades. And isn’t that something special?

Some of the most exquisite art, poetry, and literature I’ve encountered were born from sadness and pain. Ghazals, shayari, novels, paintings—they all carry the weight of grief, sadness, and longing. And that’s what sadness does. It reaches into the depths of your heart, pulling out pieces you didn’t even know existed, pieces that happiness often suppresses. There’s a depth, an honesty, in the creations birthed from sadness. It’s as if the pain becomes a language, one that transcends words and touches the soul.

Humans, I think, crave sadness more than happiness. If someone were given everything—wealth, ease, comfort, and whatnot—they would still find a way to destroy it. Why? Because happiness doesn’t last, and deep down, we know it. And that’s what I love about sadness. It’s always there, waiting quietly beneath our eyelids, ready to surface. It’s a reminder that everything we build—our dreams, our achievements, our possessions—will eventually slip away. It reminds me of life’s fragility, of how fleeting everything is. It teaches me to let go, to accept not just the joy, but the pain and loss that come with living.

There’s no hierarchy of emotions. Each feeling—joy, anger, sadness, fear—is valid and meaningful. But sadness, to me, feels truer. It doesn’t deceive or make false promises. It stays through all the chaos and calm. In the end, it’s just you and your sadness, tucked into the blanket of life.

Sadness doesn’t need to be understood or solved. It just is. Like the night sky, vast and endless. It stretches over everything, both hiding and revealing. And maybe, that’s the point. Not to fight it or escape it, but sit under it’s cover, knowing it holds your stories, your struggles and your truths. In its heaviness, there’s a weird kind of freedom. A reminder that even in the darkest corners of life, you’re still alive, still feeling, still here.