Photo by Ben Dumond on Unsplash
The highs and lows always fascinated me.
The man fixing the drain pipes next to a fancy café made out of shipping containers.
Nouveau riche yelling at the top of their lungs in the café, the music blasting, everyone showing off their pretend aliveness,
The laborer squatting on the ground, while the people in the café sat on leather couches,
The MacBook airs and iPhones out for display, “I have money, it all yells out. I have money. I can sit in a café in the middle of the day, rather than be working.”
The man working away with a hat on his head, a towel covering his neck, jeans, and shoes, and long-sleeved tee, covering his body, so he doesn’t get darker than he already is.
The men sitting in the café and the women, as fair as can be. No need to cover their unsoiled faces, or hands. They barely go out in the sun as it is. No dirt under their manicured fingernails.
The A/C blasts in the café to Tundra temperatures. While the sun blazes outside to Venus temperatures.
The man outside sweats through his thin worn out t-shirt.
The man inside sweats from the effort of being alive, his out-of-shape body unable to handle the stress of being upright and seated on a couch.
There are cold and hot drinks on the table. The man drinks some, leaves most of it, orders something to eat, leaves most of that as well.
The man outside has a bag of cut unripe apple with spicy salt. He eats it with fervor and joy. Each bite is a bite that reminds him that his senses are alive.
He squats on his haunches, and munches and chews and spits at occasional intervals.
The man inside would never spit unless it was to show he was disgusted with something. He was way too sophisticated.
The women inside spend all of their time taking pictures. On the couch. Off the couch. To the side. To the other side. On the lawn. Off the lawn. By the wall. Off the wall. With the sunglasses on. With the sunglasses, off. With the smile on. With the smile, off. They are beautiful and they know it.
The man inside came there in an air-conditioned car, of some fancy origins.
The man outside rode a bicycle or a worn-out motorbike, the seat filling coming out in tufts, the tires on their last legs, the engine making an awful noise with the effort of starting.
The man inside smells loudly of the latest cologne advertised by all the big stars. The nose is assailed by the loudness of the perfume.
The man outside smells of soap and sweat and dirt. The nose realizes the combination is generations old. Civilizations of men have smelled similarly.
Both men came from nothing, but one of them is something now. Or they both came from nothing, and one of them knew enough of the world to make something of it. Or one of them came from something and kept it.
Both men outside and inside have their phones. They are both engrossed in it. As an exercise of numbing their respective realities. Bored. Oh, so bored.
Why Is One Person Rich? And Another Not?
Why is one person down in the gutters, and another is up above in the clouds? Why is there a difference? Why are some people rich and others are poor? Does it really have to do with their mindset? Or their history? Or their genetics? Or whatever? Isn’t it just random? Just like where you were born? When you look at them, they look exactly the same really. Except one is really thin, and the other is fatter. One is dark, and the other is fair. One is dressed in fancier clothing, and shoes, whereas the other is dressed in worn-out knockoffs, and flip-flops. But besides those differences, there is nothing the difference between the two. They both look exactly the same. Then, what is it??
Do The Poor Ask Why They Are Poor?
When you go to a poor country, you always wonder if the poor people talk about the inequality in their country or do they accept it as a part of life? Some people are meant to be poor, and some are meant to be rich. I know if I was poor, I would attribute it to some fault of mine. It was my fault I am not rich. It isn’t the rich people’s fault or the government’s fault. It is entirely my fault and if I can do something about it, then I should. I shouldn’t let it all go off the rails. Unless, I want to be poor for the rest of my life.
Why Build Posh Buildings Next To Slums?
Why are the slums always next to the really nice buildings? Is it because all of the poor people were kicked out to make room for the nice buildings, and they kicked out just enough people to make space? Or is it that the powers-that-be wanted to make sure that they showed the poor people just what they are missing out? They will never be able to walk into these stores that they live right next to. How would the stores know that they live in the slums? They would know. They always know. There’s something, an air of something that sticks to them. Everyone in these places always knows the rich from the poor. Always.
Why Are You Showing Off?
Why do the rich people, the ones who are newly rich, or are not used to their richness, always have to show off their riches so badly? Why do they have to yell out their richness with a roar every single time they pass by anyone? Look at me, they want to yell all the time. I’m rich, I have money. No really, I have money. I have money. Look at me. No, you don’t believe me. Okay, I’m going to yell louder to let you know that I have money. I have money, goddamnit. Loud clothes, loud voice, loud faces, loud cars. The walls might not have ears, but I do. Stop yelling. I don’t care if you have money. We all do here. We are in a fancy café, for god’s sake.
Do Riches Really Matter After A Certain Point?
After a while, do riches really matter at all. Does anything matter after a while? Is it all about getting to a certain point and realizing that this is it? Can we just get to a certain point and be fine with it? Be fine with the fact that we are fine with this point? No need to go beyond this point, because this is the point where we needed to get to and we’ve gotten there and that’s all fine and good. Why do we need to go beyond the point beyond which we don’t have to get to? Is it all to prove to everyone else that is around us? Is it to prove to ourselves that we can do it? Or is it to be the person who can be beyond everyone else? Is it to be more than everyone else? Is it to be that person who matters? Is it to be the person who is the best of everyone? Once we’ve gotten to a certain point does it even matter? The hunger is forever there, isn’t it?
