From a long lineage of hardship and social stratification comes a stubborn taste for happiness shaped by rough living. The memories of poverty leave a mark—an appetite for simple joys that survives even in the tightest circumstances. This “poor joy” is loud and communal, a soundscape built by crowded rooms, clattering dishes, and the constant flutter of everyday life. In a community seasoned by scarcity, noise becomes a kind of atmosphere, and that atmosphere is a sign of a people who have learned to endure together. A single glass dropping on a hard floor can echo through a room, turning a moment into a shared memory of resilience and grit. It is a moment that asks: what is happiness when the room is full of life and imperfect rhythm? –Happiness!
Ignorance often guards its own happiness with fierce protectiveness, resisting anything that might reveal sorrow, pain, or broader truths. Yet even in a valley of hardship there can be small rituals of joy, tiny verbena moments that puncture the gloom. These moments remind observers that even in tough times, hope persists in surprising ways.
–Turn on the TV 5.
In a city where scarcity has historically shaped thinking, joy became closely linked to spending. Generations ago, many households faced hunger and deprivation, so the steam of commerce and the lure of a purchase offered a kind of relief. When merchants and hoteliers saw the crowd’s pulse weaken, they would remark that there was less joy to be found as cash slowed. The message seemed clear: happiness could be bought, and the act of spending itself brought a spark to the eye and a smile to the face. Yet such pleasure was often superficial, a temporary lift that failed to satisfy the deeper longing for meaning. The idea that money buys lasting happiness was contested by a culture that teased out laughter from the act of consumption and joked about the ease with which it could be spent.
Joy and the pace of spending slowed during prosperous years marked by a real estate boom. The city’s nights glittered with spectacle, and Spain became renowned as a tourist spectacle for visitors from afar. The era, now remembered as a few decades past, also reflected a wasteful, ostentatious brand of wealth. A certain crowd, impressed by quick riches, stood out with flashy displays and hollow assurances of progress. Yet even as lights flashed brighter, the longer story warned against confusing brightness with substance.
–But you can pay…!
The arrangement among politicians and electricity authorities produced a particular glow—an illumination that highlighted the intertwining of public power and private profit. In such a setting, the street’s mood could be read in the balance of light from shopfronts and the idle optimism of storefront displays. A neighborhood without shop-window light felt muted, almost somber, as if the absence of display signaled a lack of opportunity. The opposite, a brilliant glow, suggested activity and a promise of exchange.
Still, there is a counterpoint. A touch of darkness, a quiet, almost sacred stillness can be more valuable than the hum of commerce. Silence and a restrained, respectful calm may express a form of sadness that stands in opposition to the incessant cycle of consumption—where money is spoken as joy and every purchase becomes a statement of belonging. In that watchful contrast, the city finds its own, quieter measure of happiness, not in noise but in the spaces between moments, where restraint offers a different form of worth.