That was the last question: “Are you happy?” It was Sunday afternoon, after lunch, nap time. But he caught us doing crafts. A young survey author told us that they were hitting the household tirrina and conducting a survey on the quality of life in the Basque Country. Let's see if we could answer a five-minute questionnaire. He was very young. He had written on his face that he hadn’t been able to complete ten surveys all day. And on Monday, the boss would ask him for results. I mean, he was in a hurry.

We went into the room and started answering questions. He asked us about everything: work, holidays, family, politics, culture... and finally, the puzzle: “Are you happy?” To put a note from 0 to 10. And I, roundly, gave him a nine.

When we said goodbye to the boy, my husband said that I missed him: “A nine? It depends on what you put in the cocktail!” he concluded after a while.
And no, I don't agree with the final touchdown. Or, yes, it is. The authorities are not looking for our sadness. The authorities, both before and now, try to offer us a circus so that we do not think too much or at least complain too much... There's nothing but watching TV. Or to listen to their expressions, to do the greatest barbarism, and even on the day they say, trying to persuade, instead of selling the optimistic side of everything... Another thing is victimhood. With Christianity as our foundation, the essence of today’s art is not only sadness, but also suffering. And I'll take the cinema as an example. Most stories, even the most crude ones, are, of course, based on suffering in order to arrive at a happy destination. The path may be the hardest, but in the end, we achieve happiness... And I say that because we also live with the protagonists, a world as unreal as happy as anyone’s. And when we get angry with our partner, we go to bed with the protagonist of the movie, and that’s it! Problem in the middle.

No, I don’t even agree with the comment that we have more and more busy weekends.Yes, because we let it be. And because we devour superficial lives. As short and shallow as one-hour movies. The problem is, what was told to the colleague on Monday. Who doesn’t travel every weekend, every weekend from dinner to lunch and from lunch to dinner, or who doesn’t stretch their muscles in the sports center of this or another club? But these bon vivants are afraid of the magic question: “Are you happy?” “What’s

it like to be happy?” one of them threw us forward into the café. “I do what I want; I no longer have the age for nonsense, but from there to being happy... happiness does not exist! There’s always someone on the side who’s going to

fuck you!” No one else said anything. Since happiness is not enough to live from the outside, he implied that the lack of happiness also comes from the outside. And it sounds like something to think about: “That our happiness depends on others?” No, happiness is the gaze, the gaze of the individual, one’s own and untransferable, attached to every moment in which we live. Everything else, as in literature, is but a cheap stool to dream of inventing everything that is not in our power. Of course, it’s a huge illusion machine to deceive simple consumers.