Forgive me for sometimes being a rebellious son. I wish to live, but I am needed now. For truth to prevail, for humanity to win, for lies and hatred to die. Being, nowadays, may often seem unbearably light and absurd. Somehow, we have managed to fall into our own fate, like Kundera’s heroes. Forgetfulness renders most of man’s efforts futile. Nevertheless, this is our struggle: the fight of memory against oblivion, here, in the navel of Europe. Please, don’t cry! It would be a waste of effort. My message is this: without an idea, man is not living, only existing.