It´s funny how – unconditional, permanent – happiness can be scarier than unhappiness. Who, when and where was I – successfully – convinced that happiness is wrong? When did I accept to feel guilty for pleasure, abundance, love, passion, smiling? Arabic culture, for instance, is filled with references to the need of hiding our happiness from others in order to avoid breaking its sweet spell. They call it the evil eye but the question goes way beyond names. As if we were supposed to hide a crime others may punishes us for. How many times I avoided expressing my joy in order not to upset other people and how many times did I indeed upset them, to the point of making them hate me, precisely because I openly declared how blessed and blissful I feel? How could I believe I don´t deserve my joy? Who came up with this wicked idea of associating chronical happiness with a price tag? The veils of illusion are lifted, layer upon ayer. I am an onion who needs to be properly peeled. Grabbing my knife, tissues and courage. Let´s cut this baby to the core!