Editor's note:
Wendy Guerra is a French-Cuban writer and contributor to CNN en Español. His articles have appeared in media around the world, such as El País, The New York Times, the Miami Herald, El Mundo and La Vanguardia. Among her most outstanding literary works are "Underwear" (2007), "I was never the first lady" (2008), "Posing naked in Havana" (2010) and "Everyone leaves" (2014). His work has been published in 23 languages. The comments expressed in this column belong exclusively to the author. See more at cnne.com/opinion
(CNN Spanish) --
From very early on I knew that Europe was like my home. All the prizes and decorations that I have received have been granted from the old continent, my books saw the light in several languages and publishers in this part of the world. Although life took me to another side, I always thought I would live in a place where there are laws that preserve the human being beyond dogmas, political fashions, social castes or fragile economic schemes.
From a very young age I came to Spain and felt firsthand that this society was closer to the social utopia that we were promised in our unequal and absurd tropical socialism. After the pandemic, I returned to my beloved Barcelona, the city of wonders, where the Latin American 'boom' was born and every April, on Sant Jordi, friends are given a book and a rose. I have felt differently from Barna, most people go by in a terrible mood, it is difficult not to feel bad in taxis and restaurants because of the harsh, abrupt responses, hopelessness is seen drawn on their faces. Perhaps it is the political fractures, or the iron confinement that in this part of the world has not given up. I notice that they speak little or nothing to each other, I feel that they are attempting the reunion exercise. Masks, fear, political differences,and that fear of contagion that prevents sharing a simple smile in the queue of the newspaper, where until very recently the daily events were discussed in Catalan or Spanish. Only in Sant Cugat, in a charming antiques market, did I feel like I was in Catalonia again, because that other angry Barcelona is not the one I want to carry in my memory.
I escaped to Madrid trying to find peace, and there I came face to face with a new strain of the omicron virus.
I went to the hospital and got my French passport to be treated like any other European, but the situation is this: since you don't pay social security, have private insurance or pay directly in euros for consultations, they treat you but you go home with an invoice.
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Although the days are sunny, I am cold, I walk to the small neighborhood store to buy a scarf, but it is closed because it is lunch time.
Although Madrid looks much more flourishing and prosperous, most of the young people are mileuristas, living with their parents or emigrating to find a better life.
Many university graduates prefer to take part in competitive examinations for public office.
Being self-employed in this society indebts you to the treasury from minute zero.
This is also Spain today, but people confess and try to fix the world in bars and restaurants.
Many are unhappy with the alliances to govern, and they say it clearly, not everyone wants a formula with Vox or Podemos, and they can hotly debate it.
Television continues to pass Raffaela Carrá and Rocío Jurado, time seems stopped in Spain.
Nightlife and laughter in the streets of Madrid or San Sebastian is the antidote to economic and social problems.
It is not good to see talking about work or calling to consult labor matters on weekends or holidays, but there are many bridges and summer and winter vacations are long.
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Spain is a party and has two faces, that of those who celebrate whatever the reality may be, since their economy will never be affected, and that of those who celebrate, even if it is not enough to finish the month.
From bridge to bridge, from bar to bar, because, ultimately, in this land, celebrating is a way of being alive.
In the end, this is how this country works and in many cases, like public transport, for example, like clockwork.
So I ask myself: work to live or live to work?