One afternoon, in the middle of a vast desert, I stopped to take a picture. There was a small, old chingchi rickshaw standing alone on the sandy ground. On its rooftop, four children, all around twelve years old, sat together. They raised their arms high, shouting “Yay!” as if they were celebrating something. Their smiles stretched across their faces, but when I looked closer, their eyes told a different story, smiles that seemed forced, a little sad.
The sun was hot, the air dry, and the dusty wind played softly around them. I wondered why these kids, who looked so cheerful from far away, didn’t seem truly happy. Maybe this moment of joy was their way to forget the hard days they face, maybe their homes were far, and their days filled with worries adults often don’t see. Yet, for a brief moment on that rickshaw roof, they held on to hope, expressing a happiness they wished to feel deep inside.
As the photograph captured their fragile joy against the harsh desert, I realized that sometimes happiness is not about being without troubles. It is about finding little moments to smile despite them. The children’s cheers, delicate but real, reminded me that even in tough places, hope can shine, quietly waiting for someone to notice.
