Friday, May 06, 2011

Perihal kewangan..

Growing up not having much money to spend gives me a sense of not needing money to be happy.
**I had a happy childhood. Ignorance, innocence and fickle-mindedness did me good back then.

I was spoilt, but never on material things. My toys were hand-me-downs.
**Mostly because I always end up breaking them. Although I might have appreciated them more and took care of them had they been my own.. We'll never know.
I don't remember having a birthday party unless it's a shared one.
**So happens that a lot of my cousins, uncle/aunt were born in December. Dida too. We had a few of shared birthdays get-together.

So when I had my first job (sales girl at Kinokuniya in '06) I always say that I don't NEED to work. I don't NEED the money. I was fine just getting by. As long as I have enough to feed me, clothe me and ink in my pen, I'm happy.
Of course at this time I did have just enough money to keep me "happy".
People thought I was a rich spoilt kid who got a job as a hobby. Sure, saying my philosophical ideas out loud would make one think that I was from a wealthy background. Plus the fact that I'd spend more than RM200 on transportation alone each month to get to work when my pay was barely RM700.

And comes the Eid, I'd get some extra cash to spend frivolously.
An act of frivolity once a year really was fine by me. I didn't look like I was homeless, and somehow I managed to sit at the second row of James Morrison's show in '07. (Man I miss that guy..)

Anyway, fast forward to '09.. I started making more-than-enough money. Then somehow it feels like I need even more to keep me "happy".
Suddenly my goals became materialistic. Money oriented. "That Moleskine will make my collection complete", "if I have a pair of Louboutin's, I'll die happy", "that camera will satisfy me."

What happened really?
What happened to my philosophical values? Had it died with my dreams of writing? I feel ashamed when Encem calls me a writer. Or when he said that I could be a full-time writer if I quit my job. I am no wordsmith.
I am not even a world-traveller.
All I feel is like... A cabin crew.

Nothing wrong with that I suppose. I am honest at my job -- most of the time anyway. My smiles were sincere, or I wouldn't have smiled in the first place. I rarely ever lied; you could see the annoyance on my face when a passenger asked me to repeat the choice of meal for the third time. (ha ha!)
And I love it when I connected with a stranger.

But I always thought that there were something more. That all these connections and the places I've seen would bring me a sense of completion.
I don't feel a tad wiser from these.

Money ruined me.
Instead of enabling me to enjoy my life as it deserves to be enjoyed, money had just given me an excuse to hoard things that clutters the house.

And now I want a credit card.


Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device via Vodafone-Celcom Mobile.

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