Rich is an Opinion, Poor is a Fact

People

Why can’t everybody be rich?

I went to a mall today for grocery shopping and dinner with a friend. Unlike the usual, I spent “only” IDR 65,000 (around USD 6) for an okay meal and a glass of chocolate milk [for your information, I’m a typical middle class Jakartan who never cease to try having good food without being robbed by restaurant business. I’m not poor and I live relatively well — despite the obsession of living humbly and economically]. I need to mention that because what I’m about to say is quite subjective and presumable.

It began with an incident of bumping into one garbage boy on my way out. We looked at each other for a couple of seconds. All of a sudden a flash of images spattered, his story’s flowing through my mind…

He was a high school graduate, just recently worked in that mall for less than 60 days. Being a garbage boy was not his ultimate idea but that’s all he could get for now. He came from a small village in Demak where his parents live. He was single with no potential girlfriend. And he was tired. He was tired of working until late even on Sunday and most of his paycheck was spent for renting a simple 3×2 m2 room, three meals, and fuel for his late 80s scooter. He never smoke unless someone gave him. He was sad he couldn’t spare some money for his parents. He was unhappy and he was envious seeing me with a big shopping bag of a week supplies.

I felt a slight anger in me: why can’t everybody be well-off? I’m not an economist who would answer this question thoughtfully and wisely. In fact, I don’t necessarily demand an answer either. It was just a protest to the universe. And by the way, are there any poor economists?

So I went home with this troubled feeling. I relaxed on my couch reading some news. Guess what the first one I read: a old homeless guy, who’s picking up garbage for a living, found dead in one traditional market after 20 years of loneliness (or solitude?).

This is a mad world.

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A note of a lonely man

.
I am old and I am nobody

I am not somebody’s lover
I am not somebody’s spouse
I am not somebody’s parent

Oh I miss the feeling of being wanted
That someone wants me in most of the precious time
That someone is around when I need to

Oh I miss the feeling of being loved
That someone adores me
And always puts me as priority

Oh I miss the feeling of being needed
That some little ones cling on me
That I can make them feel secure and comfy

Yes I am getting older now, and getting lonelier
I am happy at times, but am desperate too when things are tough
I am stronger and more independent than ever
But am getting sick of taking care of everything
By my own little hands, my own tired brain, my own empty soul

Now that I am older
The skin is wrinkling, the spirit is vanishing
Chances are thinning, options are shrinking
Hopes are diminishing

Now that I am older, I can see things more clearly
I can see love, I can see lust
I can see honesty, I can see lies
I can see sincerity, I can see hypocrisy
I can see sympathy, I can see pity

Now that I am older, honey, I truly wish you were here…