My mum and dad named their first-born daughter “Felicia”, and by definition, my name literally means “happy one”.
I suppose that explains my optimistic personality and predisposition to see the glass as half-full instead of half-empty. It probably also is the reason why I constantly look at the brighter side of life, trying to search for the silver lining in every situation I may find myself in.
Sometimes people tell me I’m too positive (as if it were a bad thing), but I try to take these comments as compliments instead of criticism.
I’m a sociable introvert, I’d like to believe.
I love to mix with all kinds of people – old friends, strangers and new acquaintances all excite me. I truly enjoy hearing other people tell their stories, about where they come from and the lives they lead, in the same way that I feel at ease telling them about mine.
Yet at the same time, the introvert in me likes to curl up under the covers with just a good book and hot tea for company; other times, I like to be enshrouded in complete silence, my thoughts flowing as easily from me to the page I’m writing on.
I’m not one prone to sudden outbursts of tears nor am I one to let things overwhelm me.
Yet last Thursday, in the calm of my apartment with the TV on, I found myself giving in uncontrollably to a bout of tears that I honestly had no idea were coming.