I am not the same as I was before~ I was rather a spoiled child. Who wants to be friends with someone who did not understood hard work and empathy for the unfortunate. I was not rich, nor was I poor, and it was enough for me to be a dependent fool.
Wherever I went, I brush off what my friends say, thinking to myself, 'it's not like those people are forever unhappy.' Boy, was I wrong; some of those unfortunate people I saw though puts on a happy smile, I could see in their eyes it was sadness, longing, and ignorance. Ignorance~ something that no one has that could match mine. I was being such a smart-mouth who in reality knew nothing of life.
I never knew that I was ignorant, at least until I met someone who was probably an orphan. She was around my age, and she looks nothing like me; she appears a skinny one, a pale skin damaged, skin marked, frail child.
"What is the common wealth life like?" I heard those first words come out of the child as she coughs. During that time, I only showed apathy to the peer, and only brag on about how nice it is to have a house, items that could suffice as satisfactory, and many more. I was stopped when she replies, "what are your values that requires no tangibility?" and I could not understand what she meant. Tangibility, what does that mean?
She probably knew that I could not figure the definition, and telling me, I could only utter hesitantly, "my parents." Even if my parents are visible, they were never around for me, and could only litter my room with toys, books, and accessories. The child laughs, "those parents of yours are human; they are not something invisible; they are physically seen," what an odd child she was to me. What does someone off the streets know about me.
"I know enough about you, child of the rich. You~ have many things that we the poor, will barely have in our lives. We only have our dreams and family, and since a dysfunctional family will wither out, only dreams remain," exactly how does a fourteen year old understand about this? What makes her as wise as the owls of the land; the elders.
Neither of us spoke, and I only look off, leaving her as she was. I never took much consideration of her words, and soon, it begins to haunt me. What are your values that requires no tangibility? That plays in my head several times an hour, and I was left being angered of such foolishness.
It was no foolishness, as I listen to how my tutor speak badly of the poor; I could see that they were not bad. He did not seem to me defending the "savages" as he calls them. "How pitiful those creatures are," I felt something clutch at my chest, a burning sensation inside me. What was this feeling? Guilt, sadness, empathy, no~ it can't possibly since I have been told the poor were depicted as "beasts."
If so, then why is that girl a more humanly child than we are? Why does she have the wise mind that few of us possess. Why does her feelings pertain to all rankings of life? My answer to which I have been contemplating on was soon answered when the child was seen by I, sitting on a chopped tree.
"Life is easily thrown and controlled yes?" She asks, and my only reaction that time was tilting my head; what does this child mean by that? Do I have as much right as calling her a child when she is the same age as I?
She said nothing for a few moments, and continues admiring the tree stump that no longer holds the log. I look at the stump, gazing at the sap that shines under the sun. "Do you know~ are you aware of how manipulative a life can be?" she asks, and I only trace circles with my foot on the soiled ground. Manipulative, what does she mean by manipulative. "Perhaps it's best you'd not answer; questions like these could not possibly be answered by the rich. You all say that I will not understand the outside reality of life; truth to be told, it is you who knows nothing of life." I was taken aback, a bit irritated at the girl's provocative speeches.
The non-addressed girl only sighs, as she touches the sap. I roll my eyes at her actions, and had impulsively said, "why do you act as if you know anything, when you never went to a school?" and she looks at me with those saddened eyes. Why is it that every person that I see living an unfortunate life has eyes that hold the opposite of happy.
Why is it that people say I am ignorant; I didn't know that they were living like this; locked away from the bright light of happiness, and concealed in darkness.
The child could only mutter a few words that I couldn't hear. Actually, I could hear a bit of incomprehensible words that the child says. I don't know what the child is thinking but then, I was met face to face with her.
"Dependent child, do you know the reason how I am still living?" I answered none, "the manipulative life I was raised to lead is so I can one day accomplish the dream I desire. Life isn't as easy as you believe, and the more you realize and accept it, the more you can accomplish life. I see since you are one who lives off luxury and vanity means that you will not live out in the reality world when bankruptcy comes. How does it feel to live the life of a rich, not having to do many jobs that can either be rewarding or dangerous? To not pull a muscle, you must enjoy listening to the pleading cries of the sad lives. Even you are manipulated by the life of a rich; no one is truly rich. Your parents and previous generations were poor themselves; they had to work until blood and sweat shows in their results. The money is NOT yours, it is theirs. You must fend for yourself eventually; that is what your parents would want you to do," the child coughs violently, as she hastily sat down to count the flowers that forms in a circle, surround the stump.
"My tasks in order to live and not be persecuted, is to avoid any wealth related object. That includes you; thanks to you, I have broken that contract; I cannot live here," she got up, and with a pat on my head, she walks away.
For months, I never got to see her, and the realization came to me that she will not return. The loneliness I began to feel suddenly affects my appetite, and my sleep. Why did I suddenly feel that; I didn't know why I was suddenly this way until years after I am currently aged nineteen, that I conclude that words affect more than the mind. The girl I met years ago taught me more than the luxury world; she taught me that there is no such thing as true wealth; even royalty must've gotten their wealth from somewhere.
How silly of me~ I begin to think of her constantly during my lessons. I can guarantee that my teacher was not pleased with me staring off into space, and should continue to focus on my education. I ask my tutor of why he thinks such negativity of the poor, and he answers with equal hate, "the very life of them disgusts me to the core. They are born slaves who cannot get their education anywhere other than the gossips they share amongst eachother. It's how life is; we are the masters, and they are the tools; we must use them as how we are believed to instruct them."
We continued our studies in silence, and I utter softly, 'you are wrong.'
There was news of an incident involving an epidemic. I was immediately along with the other children given a vaccination. The news written on paper then said on a small section, "two-hundred unknown low-ranks died of sickness," and I only sigh as I realize that perhaps the life we live really is that ignorant.
Two more years pass, and I am finally a full adult, and as I pass the graves of the buried, I caught sight of a picture of someone that looks familiar. Looking at it for some moments, I did not react when it it was that girl I met long ago.
She was someone who I knew few of, and yet carries many phrases in her pockets. Someone like her seems to not regret much about her loss of life; and yet, I know that she would've said, "everyone fears death. It's only those who are willing to go into death that sinned in your eyes," and many other so on, so forth.
Days later, a friend of mine wishes to accompany me to the graveyard, and as we went there, I once again meet the girl who I possess many respect towards. Setting the flowers down, I then say a few words to her, "rest in peace. You have lived a long compassionate life."
My friend, then asks, "who is this that you've come to pay respects to? Is she someone you love?" the question then comes into my thought, and I only laugh bittersweet-ly, replying, "a very good friend, like you."
We leave the cemetery with one last glance, never turning back afterwards. Perhaps I do love you; perhaps I don't; I respect you as much as the elders young deceased one.
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