As I said, I am now a generally happy person. Well, "happy" is a funny word -- maybe more like content, satisfied, and grateful. I have to admit that my kids are totally my source of contentment. Just try sitting next to a quietly engaged 10-month-old boy, banging away at his toys with his little hand, eyes wide open, totally immersed in the most simplest of activities. The whole world is new to him, and his innocence and wonder are so contagious. I just sit there and stare in awe. Don't get me wrong, babies can be hair-pulling hellraisers -- both ours had plenty of such moments. But as much as I'm required to give to them, they fill me up in return, abundantly.

Everyone was once a baby, and let me tell you, if not a village it sure takes most everything a parent or two have to offer to raise a child. It is a lot of effort. Everyone once was a child, this blank canvas, wired in his/her own unique way, but totally devoid of concealed despair that we adults all seem to carry. And in this modern age it appears to me that more sophisticated the society becomes, the greater the gap between that outwardly facade and the inner turmoil.

The prime example is Japan -- this country of exceptional wealth and literacy loses well over 30,000 people to the epidemic of suicide each year. Of course, this tally doesn't count those who attempted but failed in terminating their own lives -- and the numbers are staggering. I can attest to the fact that in Tokyo, every moment a train somewhere is getting delayed because someone jumped down in front of one. It is so mundane, so common place that only the most sensational cases make it to the news. And this includes many teenagers.

It's true that Japan has an ancient tradition favoring death over loss of honor, but this is 21st century. To have nearly 100 people succeeding in the act of ending their life everyday is just unfathomable.

But yet, the illness exists. And the cure is not the proliferation of Prozac. It's true that some are off-balance simply because of chemical imbalance, but in most cases, I think that's just treating the symptom and not the cause. At the time I definitely didn't consider it a blessing, but I did live side by side to a close family member who long suffered severe depression, caused by scars from the past -- and the effort and resources it took for that person to heal was nothing short of astounding. And we're talking about just one person, coming from a not-ideal-but-perfectly-common background. Every time I see that person, I am amazed at the complete recovery, and how long and far the road to it was.

Well, this family member of mine was a lucky case -- many, many others simply don't have that chance. Everywhere I go, I can sense them -- thanks to my exceptionally sensitive antenna -- the hurt, the longing, the plea for life that the person him/herself may not even be aware of. And I experience it, right along with them. I can tell you that I'm no saint. I sometimes envy those who can remain aloof and unaffected even when a person sitting next to you is quietly suffering.

I do am very grateful that my own moments on the edge faded away with my youth, but the sadness remains, mainly because I have this gift of being able to vividly feel what other people are feeling. That connection is very strong, that I have to watch my distance to people around me for the fear of getting too close and getting hurt. On the other hand, once I decide that I care about that person, I do go a great length to be loyal and be there for the person -- not because I am all that generous or nice, but simply because I just can't stand being close to a person in pain, feeling it right along with them.

That's why none of my songs are really autobiographical, in a sense that the stories always came from someone else, whether a friend or just someone I saw on news. All the feelings are mine, though -- it's the feeling I get from knowing that hurt soul, and experiencing their struggle as my own. Sometimes I do feel silly, and it bothers me that I'm carrying someone else's problem. I cannot solve nor heal -- then wouldn't the world be a better place if I just remained happy on my own, so that there's one less person in pain?

But yet, singing these songs of someone else's hurt does make me happy -- well, "happy" is a funny word, more like joy and fulfillment -- in a strange but comforting way. None of my songs are autobiographical, though feelings are definitely mine. It's the pain I feel in sharing someone else's burden. Maybe misery loves company for a reason. I don't have an answer nor a cure, I just simply do my best to face the grim reality together. Yet in that moment of sharing, connecting, realizing that you're not alone feeling that feeling you don't want to feel -- it seems to lift the pain a little.

At least I hope it does. I really, really hope so.