I have always believed that the poor have no right to get all proud and mighty. This can’t be more true with my current situation right now. I am so broke that I have spent the last two days holed up inside our room trying to think of various money-making schemes, scouting the net for possible freelance jobs and dreaming of the time when I will finally pay dirt and win the lottery.
I don’t know how I manage to lose money faster than I manage to earn them. I figured it must be the bills, the money owed to people, the daily cost of living and the occasional sense of what little luxury I can afford myself. It did not help that I am currently in the middle of a really bad fix and going through one of the roughest patches of my life. Salary day is still a few days away and there was still the usual worries of everyday expenses.
What can I say, grown up problems suck.
The funny thing is people think I am a trust-fund baby…that I have this unlimited bank account where I drew funds for my Japanese magazines, my travels, my fixation for cute shoes as well as my numerous books that I don’t get to read. I didn’t realize that I give off this vibe not until I was informed by a good friend that our colleagues have the impression that I am rich. The idea amused (yet never flattered me), how can this be–when I never owned anything that vaguely resembled a name brand, my clothes were mostly thrifted and would never cost more than 1,000 bucks a piece.My only indulgence is my hair coloring which happens every three months, or if my roots become annoying. My travels is made possible by saving up for eleven months, in order to spend the rest in a matter of week outside the country. I never owned anything of value, except my laptop.
I never spoke in an accent, nor the annoying colegiala, lilting way common to people who were manor born. I studied in a public state university where my semestral matriculation amounted to no more than PHP400, the usual cost you spend for a solo meal at Brothers Burgers. I had an exclusive, Catholic secondary education but four years were spent as a regular fixture on the promisory note list.
So when people at the office assumed that I was rich, and that they can borrow money off me, I am a bit confused and amused.
Being broke made me realize that you do not have business being proud when you have no money in your pocket. You swallow your pride and ask your mom to loan you money, promising that the debt gets paid by end of the week. You swallow whatever toughness you have in you, the painful words you get to hear and you are reduced into a stuttering idiot, extending her hand for whatever dole out that is available.
Last night before sleeping, I caught myself telling Him in my prayers, “I will never spend hard earned money on things that can get easily replaced.”