★Airdoodles.

On second thought, I never really fell in love with the ones who think their reams of printed paper, exorbitant numbers in their bankbooks, and round pieces of shiny metal can buy the world.

I’m not speaking to each and every member of the alta sociedad. Don’t get me wrong. I have good friends who never slapped money on other people’s faces.

But most of them are strange. Strange in a twisted, bizarre way.

The great thing about my current job is the opportunity to not just speak with a lot of people, but to converse. To communicate. To connect. To touch lives.

With the humble ones, who are earning just enough (or less), I hear of modesty. Of honesty. Of hopes and dreams that are eager to be built. There’s a solid bridge that is welcoming. There’s a great sense of humor. Telling jokes about life despite the struggles. There’s light. Genuine light.

The shimmering ones speak with utmost flamboyance. They brag of their education. “I’m educated.. in a premier academy (which you can never afford).” Vile. Hear yourself. When you get deprived of something you want, you’re no better than a toddler who spilt his milk: crying out loud and yelling words out of your wide mouth. What the rich wants, the rich gets? Please. Such education. Such sophistication. Touch life? Mine? No, thanks.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe because I don’t understand your clique. I don’t understand; maybe because I was never one of you.

Your reams of printed paper, your exorbitant numbers in your bankbooks, your round pieces of shiny metal – if a small spark gets to it and sets them ablaze, they’ll burn. They will all burn with your corrupted carcass swimming so fervently in them.

My heart will always be for the poor. Because I’m one of them. Actually, we’re never poor. We’re a whole lot richer than you think. We may not always have enough money, but we’re richer. And proud of it. :)