I ran up the stairs to the fifth floor. A college student called Donna lives there. The name of the university she is at is so long and complicated that I can never remember it, but I knew that she was an artist. She could play the guitar, the piano, the flute, and the drums — the kind of drums Native Americans played. And she could also sing and draw. My mum had told me that she was really talented.
Our music teacher had already explained to us what that meant.
“Talent is something we are born with. For example, if someone likes to run and they are faster than everyone else, they have a talent for running. They might even become a world champion one day, if they develop that talent. Our Jane here draws very well. She doesn’t need to be taught how, she just picks up her pencil and draws. But she still needs to practise, to draw more and more. Some people are even lucky enough to be able to make a living out of their talent.”
Donna from the fifth floor had always struck me as a happy person. Whenever I met her, she had a smile on her face. I guess it’s because she does something she really enjoys.
I was now standing in front of her door, but I didn’t dare knock. It’s not that I was shy or scared, but I could hear music. Donna was playing the guitar and singing. Her voice made such a wonderful sound that even though it was dark in the hallway, I felt happy and content like I do when the sun is shining.
I remembered how we had talked about happiness at school.
“Happiness is when my heart feels…
