Smiling Outside

A few days ago, many people told me that they would remember how I almost always had a smile on my face. But you know what? That smile means many things, altogether and sometimes not.

Pretty often, it's a Jewish smile. Life is too short, why not get on with it, ah humans are like that, God made it this way – that kind of smile. It's a real attitude, a sign of relentlessly coping with life. As I've always said, if life sucks, you just have to suck harder.

Sometimes, it's an Italian smile. Hey, you're crazy ah! Well, I am also crazy, but at least I know it. Eh, from one nutcase to another, here's a smile. But then again, we're all mad, so it doesn't matter and you might as well smile, no?

Occasionally, it's an Iberian smile. Oh yes, we all get it sooner or later, it's the sad stuff, but what can you do? We will die heroically, with that smile and a sabre or a pistol (or both) in hand. It's all about style, the excellence of ending.

Once in a while, it's an English smile. That's the way it's going to be, is it? Very well then, you do it that way, I'll do it the way I've always done it. I'm not sure how amusing you think you're being, but one ought to give it a try anyway.

And it goes on down the list. I'm pretty sure I have an Ukrainian smile somewhere, certainly a Chinese smile (utterly terrifying), and several others.

But thinking about it, the main reason I smile (almost) all the time is that I'm not happy. That is, I'm not dependent on happenstance, on the positive balance of hap against mishap. In fact, I'm joyful and no number of funerals, partings, quarrels, disappointments, hurts, and assorted unpleasantnesses will change that. Joy, as the old song goes, is a flag flown high from the castle of my heart.

Most of the time, anyway.