They say that a fool can never be cured to his death.
But I like to take a slightly more optimistic view of this. Something
more like “A fool will be cured by the time he’s dead.”
While we call them all fools (or its synonyms), there actually exist
many different kinds of fool. The fool I speak of here is the fool who
creates his own hell.
What is characteristic of this fool, first of all, is that he is strongly
convinced he can never be happy. Made more severe, this
conviction can be expanded to become “I shouldn’t be happy,” and
ultimately arrive at “I don’t want to be happy,” a most destructive
misunderstanding.
Once that point is reached, there’s nothing left to fear. These fools
become intensely familiar with dissatisfaction, and no matter how
blessed their environment, they find some loophole to avoid
happiness.
As this is all done subconsciously, they believe this world to be hell -
when in actuality, they are just making it hell themselves with every
step they take.
I myself am one of those hell-creators, which is why I believe so, but
such fools cannot be cured quickly. To someone who has made
being unhappy part of their identity, not being unhappy is losing
oneself. The self-pity they used to endure unhappiness eventually
becomes their only enjoyment, and they actively seek out
displeasure for that purpose.
However, as I stated at the outset, I believe such fools will be cured
by the time they die. To be more exact, my thought is “Just before
death, I’m sure they’d be cured.”
The lucky ones may get an opportunity to be cured before that
actually happens, but even the unlucky, when they realize the
inevitability of their death and are freed of the chains of “having to
keep living in this world” - finally, then, are they not also freed from
their foolishness?
I called this viewpoint optimistic, but looking at it closer, it could be
considered quite pessimistic as well. The first time he comes to love
the world is when his death is made certain.
However, I consider that through the eyes of this “fool who was
cured, but too late,” everything is hopelessly beautiful.
The deeper the regrets and grievances like “To think I lived in such a
beautiful world as this,” or “Now I’d be able to accept it all and
live,” the more the world appears to be cruelly beautiful in return.
I’m always thinking about how I want to write on that kind of
beauty.
At least here in “Three Days of Happiness,” though it would seem I
used the story to speak about the value of life, the power of love
and whatnot... to be honest, that was not my intention in the least.
