I don’t know at what point stop being happy. I don’t even know, for certain, if ever we had been. What if I am convinced is that now, more than ever, they require us to be. They impose happiness us, they ask us to cries. What nose: ordered it us and judge us if we opted for something so outlandish as it is not to sit down with forces of being happy without further.
Neither do I know if we are unhappy for being young and if this unhappiness and eternal dissatisfaction will disappear over the years, with the arrival of the famous maturity and wisdom. Nothing is guaranteed. You know, they say that maturity comes with age, but sometimes age come alone.
I look at and nobody in their right mind, is happy.
I emphasize that “in their right mind”, because the only person who might be happy is the unconscious of everything that happens to her around. Others are bound to be some unhappy. And what is worse, we are still more unfortunate if we don’t feel stupid desire to be elated every day.
I know a lot of people, both in person and through emails I receive every day. Meet someone through your writing is to know it in its pure State, in solitude, in sincerity most absolute (which can afford). See it in every conversation, in every line of your huge letters: people don’t know live. People live by comparing with others, suffering by failing to meet the expectations of that society, not to be cool, not to reach objectives that they themselves have been proposed. People judge and is judged by its profile on social networks (which have more “networks” to “social”), so it puts your business card, if they live alone or at home from their parents, if they travel or if its appearance is acceptable to the rest of us tired and unhappy.
We, the youth, have a pressure that our fathers, had never had the of having not one, but two lives well formed: which is real (or what’s left of it) and show people that we do not know. We just believe that show what is fail ourselves, when it is just the opposite.
There they are, young people who fail to all, who are tired of being young and already have no mood for anything, after having sought pose, after applying filters, having responded to comments, of having worked ten hours, have made sport, have been romantic and have shown to all, have bought the last having created a business, have dreamed of what they want to be, eating healthy, having fought for equality, have been outraged with that world, have been married on a high, having appeared in a magazine, have been recovered after a pregnancy, of authors that are fashionable, if you have read educated children without knowing how educate them because nobody has written about how to survive in the 2000 having overcome a depression, have decided what to do with their lives and have convinced others that have done it. There are them, those who do not know that living is just that, living, without justifying it in front of everyone.
I wonder where is the end of that eternal exhaustion. I wonder how we got to that syndrome of Stockholm and who is going to get out of there. I wonder why even being tired of being young, When we are older we continue trying to seem them. Because being more, nowadays, it is equally unbearable.
I wonder if we have become crazy.