Year New Happy

I love you so much

my friend and I baked a happy cake and I ate everything

I’ve come to believe that one of the greatest scams life sells us begins the moment we become, as Renike would say, the blessing police.

It happens quietly. One day you climb into that invisible high chair of judgment and start auditioning your own life, deciding what is worth celebrating and what isn’t. The small blessings lose their shimmer. The ordinary becomes basic. Soon you’re craving spectacle, the glitter, the applause, all the stars SZA screamed about. You want something dazzling enough to light candles for.

But happiness is a mischievous thing. It prefers the small corners of our lives. If you cannot dance when the seed is planted, why should you be invited to the shade its growth brings?

We have always been the ones with endless wants, stretching desire into new shapes. And yet, everything we need already exists. The love we crave waits at home. The validation we ache for rests in our mother’s eyes. We have always been enough and chosen, bare, unwritten, unembellished. Whatever comes after is merely extra.

People say God has favorites, the ones whose prayers seem to be answered before the words even leave their lips. The ones life appears to fold itself around with ease. But I don’t think God plays favorites.

I think some people simply celebrate everything.

They move through life with a softness that refuses to wait for grand announcements before choosing joy. They rejoice over the tiniest wins and stretch them into moments worth archiving. They bake a cake for a 200-day Duolingo streak, not because the world applauds it but their discipline deserves it. They plan a photoshoot after completing a personal challenge, honoring their own consistency and all the sacrifices it took to get them there.

They dance under the moon, not because life is perfect, but because the night didn’t break them. They laugh in the rain, letting it baptize their doubt, rinse away comparison, and remind them that presence is enough.

When you believe things happen for you, they do.

2025 was a bruising year for me. I lost more than I won. I faced more fires than flames I could control. But I am still here, alive, grateful and loud about the little things. So when I scream on my socials about my small joys, call me God’s favorite.

Because all my scars were intentional. They were the refining fire my shine required. And when 2026 bends toward my becoming, I will know I deserve it.

This year, we will not sulk. We will not grumble. We will not shrink.

Sons make demands.

We will stretch the boundaries of our prayers, ask for what terrifies us, and reach for things far bigger than our hands, with wonder, gratitude, and reckless celebration.

Happy New Year, pookies.

Keep unboxing.