For six years in a row, Canada has won first place, which means that it is the best place in the world to live. Norway is second, followed by the USA, Japan, Belgium, Sweden. Australia is seventh.

If I had to decide, I would trade Canada for Australia. Australians call their continent a “lucky country.” Luck is what we all need, in fact.

At first glance, I do not notice my own country among the 174 listed. So I start to read carefully. Here is Greece in 27th place, and Slovenia in 33rd, and Croatia in 55th. Here is Cuba, placed 56^th. Macedonia is 73rd, China is 98^th and Albania is 100th. Not even Iraq is last. Iraq holds a solid 135th place. But my country just is not there. We cannot, therefore, stand in comparison even with Ethiopia, Nigeria or Sierra Leone, which is dead last.

We are not even the worst place in the world to live. We simply do not exist. How is it possible that we do not exist? What sort of zone is it that I live in upon this planet. Is it possible that this little part of the globe, the part for which I have so many strong and contrary emotions, and so much love and contempt, and the part from which I am forever escaping but which I never can do without, is it possible that that part of the world is only a mirage, a shadow on the wall? What is my life, then? Who am I? Should I ask myself: "Quid ergo sum, Deus meus?"

This no time for metaphysics. You’ve got to survive now, and be practical. There’s no use thinking about Plato's cave. This is no cave, this is an ordinary unprotected reservation. Here live people who are being experimented on by everybody.