unlimited

It's terribly late and I don't know why I'm still awake. The night is stiflingly hot, but I've just turned the air conditioner on, and I've got a glass of water in front of me, with a few ice cubes floating in it. Moisture condenses on the side. I think water is my favourite drink, partly because it's definitely a guiltless pleasure. You can find nothing wrong with drinking water, and it's so pure and refreshing.



I finished reading The Great Gatsby tonight, since it's required reading for this year's Cornell freshmen. If I've learnt anything about life, is that 'required' doesn't work on people 2 out of 3 times. I've no idea how to answer any of the study questions yet, anyway. Probably need to re-read it a few times.

What I did bring from the book, however, was an odd familiarity with one of the scenes. Gatsby throws these lavish parties almost every night, and people just turn up, some invited, most not. He doesn't care, he just provides the entertainment. One has to wonder, what satisfaction does he get out of it? (the narrator reveals the why of it later, but anyway.).

It made me think about a friend's birthday bash last Saturday, almost a week ago. Some of her other friends from her secondary school wanted to make it a surprise event, so we who knew her from college were roped in as well. I couldn't help but wonder (cynically, I know) whether we were just there to make the numbers. There was some conversation, but mostly there was activity. I don't think any of us spoke much to the birthday girl at all. See, she lives in this absolutely enormous house, with all sorts of little entertainments. Pool, pool table, foosball table, home theatre (in the most literal sense), and so on. Plus, it's easy to get isolated because of the size. It was easy to keep busy, I'll say.

Such... extravagance. I wonder what it's like to grow up with so much. I wonder whether filthy rich is for me. It's been an oft stated goal of mine, to get filthy rich; yet as I looked upon the house, it seemed rather hollow. Luxurious and easy on the eyes, but ultimately, it's not my particular meaning for life. I found more peace by gazing at the full moon setting on the horizon, from the third (or fourth) floor balcony.

I find joy in getting to know people that interest me (which for some reason often seem to be girls =D. psychoanalyse that as you will). I find great pleasure in deep, meaningful conversations, and am glad for every single one I've had. The problem with being wealthy, is that perhaps it's all too easy to acquire the thing-ishness of your possessions. Too easy to be viewed as the sum as your belongings because the glitter and sparkle draws eyes away from personality and character. It's hard to chat when people are busy entertaining themselves at your expense, too. Given enough time, who knows, a scrunity of character might become uncomfortable, and you draw further into your protective coccoon of gold, lost to the world.

I want to get rich. But I don't want to lose my humanity, nor my complexities. I don't want it to be a barrier between me and the world. I want to keep the simple joys of life, I want to be loved for who I am and not for my bank account, I want to be seen apart from my wealth*. Ah well. I don't know that I'll get that filthy rich for this to apply =)

Bleah. I won't win any coherency awards for this post. But my thoughts are scattered anyway, and I don't really have a point, just an amalgation of ponderings that arose. If anything, it's a question of, "What do I want to achieve?" and wondering about wealth as an end. Conclusion - don't really need to be filthy rich. Have enough cash not to worry about anything, is enough. Other things such as friends, vastly more important. Yeah.

*(Apropos of not much, I find it odd to be recognised by people I don't know, which is the essence of fame. It's happened a few times =P. Like meeting juniors from CHS at frisbee, who say they've noticed me around before, while I'm going "Ummm... you're from CHS??", and the very gratifying one occasion on the last day of the A2 trials, when I forget my student ID, and another similarly troubled person next to me in the office mentioned, "Hey! You're that guy who appeared in the papers!" Gratifying, but also a bit disquieting =P. )