This is Me: Take 2

That brings me to modesty, generosity, and aversion to rich people. Hold your horses. I didn’t say I dislike all the affluent people out there. If it were so, I’d be a sour grape. When I say modest, I’m not restricting myself to one meal a day. I’m modest, not a miser. I’m unwilling to spend a few hundred bucks to get a brace put on my tooth just so my incisor gets pushed a few millimeters inwards. If you don’t already know, I fell and chipped both my [central] maxillary incisors. Somehow, over the years one decided to grow outwards. I do go out for some nice food sometimes and some of the amount goes to some old man at the market.

I remember once when two kind souls offered to support me financially.

“How am I going to repay the both of you?”

“You don’t. When the time comes, do it for another person”, was the reply. I declined the offer. But I truly appreciate the thought.

It’s the same person who lent me a Biology reference book. Something that proved very useful given the fact that I don’t go for extra classes like my friends, or own a few reference books like some snob in school. I tell myself to show such level of compassion, and more, to others in need.

My aversion to rich people? How is it justified? It’s just my simple observation that those in the position to do/change things aren’t doing a dang thing. It’s always the middle-class people who gave the most (if you consider the percentage). And it’s always the same group of people you see in the papers. Well, you do see the rich people too; in a totally different settings. Handing out mock cheque dressed in their best; always inside some glitzy ballroom complete with cocktails, finger foods, and the press. I don’t care very much about all this I’m-richer-than-you affair but it pisses me to see these people flex their wealthy muscle and make the inferior ones do their bidding.

Once whilst on my way back from backpacking to Vietnam, I see this bunch of family kicking up a ruckus at the check-in counter. Well dressed, watches, branded luggage, and the unmistakable swagger. They were raising their voice at the Vietnamese officers in green for reasons only they knew. My guess? Seeing the amount of stuff they had then, I think they were unhappy at being stopped. The matriarch of the family was making her point, and she did it well, in a loud voice and flailing her arms about. And then turn to her husband uttering in Cantonese. Such insolence! I mean, it doesn’t kill you to be polite. And rules are rules, ma’am. The guys in green maintained their composure and tried explaining, only to get Dragon Lady into another tirade. During my time there, the people of Vietnam are to me a humble lot. Quiet. Hardworking. Polite. From the staffs in the bank to the mother and child in Ben Thanh Market. Need I say more?

There are always complaints from these people. Not that they should keep quiet all the time. I myself couldn’t stand bureaucracy too. But some things can’t be helped. Just live with it. And be understanding. You don’t start cussing if your chicken isn’t served in 3 minutes after you’ve placed your orders. When it’s served in the fourth minute, at your demand, you start cussing because it’s pink.

On my many blog hopping trips, I’ve come across both likeable and slap-able people; each on different ends of the divide. On one hand you have some thankful people and on the other you have some people who love partying and complain when things don’t go their way. All are fortunate enough to further their studies abroad.

I’d go on and on but I suppose you understand now, how touchy I can get with this group of people.