growing sprout.

Everyone says that I have that kind of posh, good living; out from anyone else. I got a big house, great parents, multi-talented, a bit good looking, cute pets, or such.  But I just can’t forget that one blank hole inside my heart, which I want to brush it away. Fill it up with every pursuit of happiness. Thinking all day long of my life purpose. Put any kinds of joy I met in any single form, no matter what are they came to me, or when. 

Experience is not always about excitements. Musn’t go just above flowery path and shining, shimmering, splendid views. It, at least, should contains endless ups and downs, continuous series of rollercoasters. Maybe with some unwanted events that later came up with extraordinary euphoric feelings, and so on.