If there's one thing I believe in; it is that the world is full of beauty, darkness, love and hate. It is overloaded with friends, fans, families and foes. They're people who love you, people who you love and then they're some who just don't get along. And then above everything they're things as the sun rise and the sunset, beauty and nature.
This is what the world consists of.
But the real world?
The real world, I have come to realize, revolves around one thing and one thing only; money.
A day ago I came back from my hometown after visiting my family. It was great we played cards, ate some of the most unhealthy butter loaded dishes in the world and most of all, caught up on stuff.
When it was time to leave I packed my bags and began to walk towards my car when I noticed something. My aunt had asked a security guard to help me with a gas cylinder which happened to be extremely heavy and had to be taken to the car. I watched as the old man's limbs trembled while he carefully carried the hefty load. After walking a couple of steps, he rested the cylinder as his hands rubbed his spine that probably hurt more than I knew.
He made it somehow, left it in the car and made his way back to the plastic chair that stood in the cold winter.
I thought about it all the way home. I wanted to help him. I wanted to give him a hand with that but I knew I wasn't allowed to. Why did he have to get it all the way across the road? Why did he have to sit out in the cold while we sat in the heated living room still surrounded with blankets and smiles on our faces. I wondered what was Christmas like to him. I wondered what he had possibly done wrong to have deserved that.
Oh and then it hit me.
I know.
He had been born in a mother's lap who cradled him, hiding her tears. She hugged him, held him close making sure the father didn't notice. He was born in a mother's lap who ate two grains of rice in a month herself but a mother who loved him too damn much that she couldn't stand losing him.
Not another one, not again.
But if things were different. What if he was to be born in silk sheets, what if his first drink was a henri jayer. Would he still be trembling in the cold while his muscles screamed at him to stop?
I think not.
So when it comes down to it, is your life really all based on luck?
If you're lucky enough you'll be born rich and the rest of your life shall be full of laughter, happiness and comfort. If not, you'll manage. Right?
This is what the world consists of.
But the real world?
The real world, I have come to realize, revolves around one thing and one thing only; money.
A day ago I came back from my hometown after visiting my family. It was great we played cards, ate some of the most unhealthy butter loaded dishes in the world and most of all, caught up on stuff.
When it was time to leave I packed my bags and began to walk towards my car when I noticed something. My aunt had asked a security guard to help me with a gas cylinder which happened to be extremely heavy and had to be taken to the car. I watched as the old man's limbs trembled while he carefully carried the hefty load. After walking a couple of steps, he rested the cylinder as his hands rubbed his spine that probably hurt more than I knew.
He made it somehow, left it in the car and made his way back to the plastic chair that stood in the cold winter.
I thought about it all the way home. I wanted to help him. I wanted to give him a hand with that but I knew I wasn't allowed to. Why did he have to get it all the way across the road? Why did he have to sit out in the cold while we sat in the heated living room still surrounded with blankets and smiles on our faces. I wondered what was Christmas like to him. I wondered what he had possibly done wrong to have deserved that.
Oh and then it hit me.
I know.
He had been born in a mother's lap who cradled him, hiding her tears. She hugged him, held him close making sure the father didn't notice. He was born in a mother's lap who ate two grains of rice in a month herself but a mother who loved him too damn much that she couldn't stand losing him.
Not another one, not again.
But if things were different. What if he was to be born in silk sheets, what if his first drink was a henri jayer. Would he still be trembling in the cold while his muscles screamed at him to stop?
I think not.
So when it comes down to it, is your life really all based on luck?
If you're lucky enough you'll be born rich and the rest of your life shall be full of laughter, happiness and comfort. If not, you'll manage. Right?
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