Qué será, será

Qué será, será is a simple film song that Gómez presents as an answer to the narrator’s question about fear and irrational anxieties. Its refrain—paired with the English thought that the future cannot be seen—makes uncertainty not a mystery to solve but a condition to accept. The song’s importance lies in that modest change of orientation: it gives Gómez a way to think differently about the future, without claiming that worry or hardship can be abolished.

The Question and the Song

The expression enters a quiet conversation shaped by the night. Gómez explains that, after years of living at night as though it were day, his habits have changed; on nights when alcohol cannot be sold, he keeps company with the stars. The narrator, who has drawn attention to Gómez’s apparent communion with the stars and sun, asks why people are always afraid of one thing or another and why irrational anxieties affect them. The song is Gómez’s response to that question, not a detached musical interlude: it follows an attempt to make sense of fear.

Gómez first gestures toward the Hindi scriptures as a possible source of an answer, then qualifies his authority. He describes himself as an uneducated Christian who does not know what those scriptures say. Instead of presenting himself as a religious interpreter, he offers a song he calls simple and drawn from a film. This shift matters. His answer comes not as doctrine or argument, but as a remembered refrain whose meaning he has made his own.

Meaning and Personal Use

The song moves between the Spanish refrain Qué será, será and English words conveying that the future is not ours to see. Gómez explains its practical implication: people need not make the future their concern. The refrain does not promise that events will turn out well, nor does it name a plan by which uncertainty might be mastered. Its force is in accepting the limit of foresight. As an answer to the narrator’s question, it offers a way to loosen anxiety’s hold rather than an explanation for why anxiety exists.

That counsel is personal as well as philosophical. Gómez says the words have helped him review some of his attitudes. The song therefore signifies a change in how he approaches his own concerns, though the scene does not specify which attitudes changed or claim that the change ended his anxieties. Its modesty is essential: the refrain supplies a usable perspective, not a cure or a comprehensive account of life.

The Record and the Scene’s Emphasis

The song reaches Gómez through an ordinary, material circumstance. An American guest who had stayed at the hotel gave him the record, and Gómez says he will play it for the narrator sometime. The recording connects the intimate exchange to the hotel’s passing guests: a visitor leaves behind a piece of music, and the music becomes part of the life and thought of someone who remains there. The scene identifies neither the guest nor the film, keeping attention on the song’s meaning for Gómez rather than its provenance.

The refrain also gathers together the scene’s images of night and the larger question of what can be known. Gómez’s companionship with the stars does not make him a confident interpreter of the future; he explicitly declines such authority. Instead, the song gives him a compact form in which uncertainty can be acknowledged without being endlessly feared. Its central significance is this small, earned act of redirection: faced with a question about irrational dread, Gómez answers through a borrowed song that has already altered his own outlook.