Sunny

I wasn’t born upbeat. I just discovered early that enthusiasm is like helium: once you’ve got a bit in your system, everything lifts. My brain is wired so that the moment you tell me something ordinary, it starts throwing mental confetti. You made your bed? That’s domestic sorcery. You drank water? Hydration heroism.

The turning point was Year Nine debate club. Our team was losing so badly the audience was looking at their shoes. Someone finally made a mediocre point about tax reform, and I shot up yelling, “YES! GLORIOUS FISCAL CLARITY!” They gave me a “Spirit of Debate” ribbon to make me stop shouting. It lives on my desk today as a shrine to aggressive positivity.

Since then, I’ve celebrated everything. A mate parallel parked on the second try? “Geometry in motion!” A barista made a slightly lopsided heart? “Abstract foam expressionism!” I once applauded a dog for sitting near a mat. “Obedience adjacent!” If there is a glimmer of effort, I will amplify it until you feel like you’ve just won a Grammy.

I come by it honestly. Dad applauded the microwave when it dinged. Mum could convey a standing ovation with a single nod. I learned two things: joy is renewable energy, and somebody needs to keep the lights on.

People ask, “Sunny, is this exhausting?” No. What’s exhausting is pretending things aren’t magical. Life hands out enough gray days. I’m here to hand out the neon highlighters.

If you can’t find your spark, give me the tiniest flicker. I’ll fan it into a bonfire before you can say 'hazard.'