By Lida Prypchan
“It’s a matter of conviction,” replied Jorge Luis astutely. “Happiness is a matter of conviction,” repeated this young man who, though he constantly sought out pleasant moments, never tried to escape pain but accepted it as the most natural thing in the world. Jose Francisco, his classmate, claimed to be calm and resigned, but inside he was a repository of poorly concealed painful experiences. He listened to his friend Jorge attentively, but when he heard these words, he revealed his true thoughts to him for the first time in two years. “I appreciate what you’re saying. Your position seems really intelligent, but I find it particularly impossible to account for things that way. I don’t know whether my melancholy is hereditary. My father thinks it probably is and noticed that I always used to play alone when I was a child. He says painful experiences were etched into my brain very easily and that I was a potential depressive all my life. I remained one, too, with the ideas my father instilled in my mind. To make matters worse I always used to read psychological novels by authors like Kafka, Hermann Hesse, Sartre and Dostoievski, whose works gave me a great sense of companionship and relief from my daily pain. Ever since then I’ve told myself that I’m an existentialist, the sort of person who loves that fatal reality that Schopenhauer talks about, an atheist who wants to believe in God, so as not to feel so abandoned in this world where no one wants to surrender himself completely to anyone else. I have to admit that I’ve thought of suicide several times and even mentioned it to my mother, who’s quite understanding. She comforted me and cried alongside me, but she told my father, who said I shouldn’t go through with it because it would cause a social scandal and his reputation as an eminent lawyer would be shredded in seconds – but he didn’t tell me he wanted to help me pull through my crisis. I laughed at the way he said it, because he’s not to blame, he’s simply allowed himself to get swallowed up in the jungle of society, which is so plagued by hypocrisy and corrupt self-interests.”
Jorge Luis interrupted him to say, “I understand your feelings perfectly…your experience with bitterness and pain. You’ve become inured to it, and chronically depressed because you’re so sensitive. At the same time, your pain has made you harsh and a little indifferent, at least, that’s how you’ve seemed to me until now. It’s been a mistake to live in the past, Jose Francisco, isolating yourself and concentrating on the distressing things, just to come to the bitter conclusion that no one understands you and that fate has punished you harshly. Life is like the theater, Jose. Once destiny has done its job on us, it lets us improve our lot on our own and decide for ourselves what role we’re going to play (etc., text illegible here) and you were just left with the personality you learned when you were a child: that of the martyr. You didn’t play any other part because you were wrapped up in that sorry role and your pessimism has left you without hope of seeing that there are other better personalities.
If we behave like old fogies, don’t you see, we’re going to feel, think and act like old fogies. If we refuse to act a certain role and learn to behave accordingly, we’ll be able to avoid acquiring that personality. Don’t think I’m happy every single moment of the day. When I talk about happiness, I don’t mean the everyday concept of happiness, which is to have a brilliant stroke of luck or constant pleasure. For me, happiness is making the most of the present, forgetting the past and having no concerns about the future. I’ve accepted like with all its beauty and all its ugliness, its betrayals and contradictions, and its occasional unfairness. I’ve accepted life and the beauty it has to offer, but at the same time I’m aware of the pain it can also mete out. For me, happiness is in being able to bring my dream to like: to be a philosopher, unconcerned with material wealth, who exists for his ideas and beliefs, who lives for and is in love with just one woman. Whether I achieve this or not, only time and fate will tell. But let me tell you something important – since I’m convinced that I am going to achieve this, I’m not about to depress myself with pessimistic or self-defeating thoughts. You’re wondering at my words and looking at me as if I’m a freak. You’re wrong. I’ve had to go through a lot to convince myself of this. I’m reserved and don’t like talking about such intimate matters as I’m discussing with you today. I’m a man who has let himself be carried away by base passions, particularly bitterness and vengeance. Not that I’ve often acted out of vengeance, but I have been consumed with bitterness – that is, until the day I decided to fight it because of all the damage it had inflicted on me. Don’t think it was easy, I needed many years to convince myself of it. I can’t say I don’t sometimes feel bitter, but it’s not like it used to be, a sick fury that consumed my dream. I’ve learned to be indifferent. When someone hurts me or takes advantage of my generosity, I tell myself he’s a poor fool who doesn’t appreciate the friendship he’s lost and doesn’t realize how much I could teach him. Before, I’d be eaten up by the thought that he considered me the fool, but now it’s of no concern to me – I even prefer it that way.
He rose from his seat and went into the studio with two glasses of wine, saying to Jose Francisco, “Now, my dear friend, it’s time to make a toast. Let’s drink to the new role you’re going to play in the theater of life – you are going to become an Advocate for Happiness!” Overcome by emotion, they raised their glasses…
