In my opinion, when Picasso decided to break the traditional perspective and launch himself into the avant-garde with Cubism, the idea of being happy with what he was doing was on his mind.

Here I am, with the acidity that characterizes me and that, curiously, makes me happy. As someone who lived much of his life in a state of unhappiness, I can list any number of concepts or characteristics of what the opposite of happiness is. But at the moment, trying to define what happiness is without falling into what everyone repeats, in addition to what is already in the dictionary or Wikipedia, is difficult for me. Because I don't see it as a concept, but as something deeply abstract: a composition of many things. To be able to explain it, I would have to put myself in the role of a Cubist artist or, better yet, an abstractionist. Let's see if I can make myself understood.

When my therapist told me in 2017, “Forget about others, focus on what you feel, on what you want,” in that instant, I smiled. I felt powerful, liberated, with an emotional state that allowed me to touch the light, the colors, and even the smells. See? It's complicated to explain. But that, precisely, was my happiness.

My parents gave birth to six siblings, the oldest one being me. Six men who, according to Mom, "threw the couple pod." But if you ask any of my brothers, they will say for sure that they fucked to exhaustion... except Leonardo (me). They got up happy, as soon as the sun came up, they started playing, inventing fantasy episodes in which they reigned, fought, and enjoyed a world. I wasn't in those episodes; it wasn't my thing. I lived in a parallel world, immersed in my images and thoughts. A bubble of my exclusivity.

My brothers were happy. My parents, maybe, although they were complaining about all the fuss. And I... maybe I was happy in my isolation, but I didn't know it, or I just wasn't aware of it. What I can assure you is that I was comfortable.

Then we can say that [comfort equals happiness].

But people don't want you to be happy. It sounds ugly, unfriendly, but it's like that. They tell you, "I'm happy when you're happy," but they criticize the different way you can behave. If you don't align with the general behavior, you are a hairy mole. For years, I lived in that struggle between what others wanted and what I wanted.

My parents wanted me to play with my brothers, to make friends, and to go out. I didn't want any of that; I loved my dark space that gave me comfort, that made me feel good.

Comfort = Happiness.

But there was no other left for me. They won. I had to adapt, try to be like everyone else. If I got good grades, it was because of the smile and approval of my parents. If I fulfilled group assignments at colleges, lyceums, and universities, it was because everyone said that that was good. Even in professional life, following such guidelines was necessary to earn a good income. I adapted. I acted like everyone else, but inside I was suffering. I didn't want to get up in the morning, and I didn't want to know anything. He was a robot created by society, a machine without meaning, without emotion, without desire.

When the first girlfriend arrived, I thought she would understand me. But no. It didn't work. Other girls came: some were trying to adapt to me, others couldn't stand me. Marriages and divorces came. Children who didn't understand me either. And I was still a robot fulfilling everyone but me. Until I decided to stay alone. Until I decided to have no family, no work groups, no friends, except two who did understand me, although they didn't know how to help me. Complicated everything.

Did he know happiness? No.

Then 2017 arrived. You know what I mentioned above.

Apparently, everyone around me enjoyed seeing me happy when I acted the way they wanted: if I danced, sang, presented myself to an audience, led groups at work, shared with friends or family... they loved that. I mean, I adapted. That allowed me to live together. But when I couldn't take it anymore and decided to be alone, I understood that I had no valid reasons to continue in a state of lying and, therefore, to continue on this plane. The decision of suicide appeared because I did not feel comfortable. So why keep living?

From 2017, everything changed. The door of my cage opened, and I was able to fly at my leisure. I did not go out in despair to do whatever I wanted, but with maturity, with the knowledge of everything I had learned, and with the firm conviction that if I wanted to behave in a particular way, no one could criticize or force me.

Did the world become difficult for me? Yes. I had to look for jobs where I didn't depend on groups, where only I decided what to do, how, and when.

Today, in 2025, there are still obstacles for people like me. There are still those who do not understand that we exist beings different from most, but we are not extraterrestrials: we are touched with a blessing. And how I thank heaven for that blessing, because I feel comfortable. It's abstract, yes, but I assure you that it makes me feel happy.

According to my concept, the formula of happiness is to feel comfortable with who you are. Many people will say, "I like the way I am: I go to parties, I have drinks with friends, I go to the cinema or the theatre, I'm surrounded by people.” Perfect. That works for most. I am the exception, and by the way, acidic. That's my formula, and I love it.