I am sitting in the lap of luxury as I write this. My room is a suite- bigger than an average upper middle class person’s flat. I am wearing white slippers and have central air conditioning. A bath tub with pebbles around it; half resembling an oasis in sub Saharan Africa. Separate enclosures for taking a shower and for the water closet. The bathroom unit can easily accommodate two people for days on end.
The patio has all sorts of exotic plants and that piece of heaven is at my disposal for as long as I like. There is a 6 seater dining table that makes me want to keep eating. A pleasing omnipresent fragrance (whose origin I’m yet to find) surrounds me 24/7.
Every time I look at the many mirrors in the suite, I feel like a different person. As if this life was meant for me. I feel beautiful. All of a sudden, my Levis jeans is not good enough for me. I need Secret Circus. I crave for the Jimmy Choo handbag and the Victoria’s Secret bikini set I had seen in the last issue of Vogue. Now I want it. Moreover, I want to flaunt it- that perfect hair, the perfect mind and the perfect life where I don’t need to think about my bank balance before purchasing a surface pro.
But then I feel guilty. Guilty for wanting more. How can I not be happy with what I have? Whatever happened to satisfaction? Moreover why do I need more?
At this conjecture, I meet a lady. She is a cleaning staff who comes to clean the suite. With greying hair and a warm smile, she politely asks me about the pain I need to endure every time I wear the 6 inch heels that are now lying on the floor. This innocent question leads to a conversation and she tells me about her daughter who recently got her degree.
“She also has a boyfriend now. He is a driver and about to purchase a new car,” she beams at me. She is happy for her daughter. She goes on to tell me how her favorite time of the day is feeding the birds left-over rice, early in the morning.
She recalls an instance where one of the birds had sat on her lap and demanded to be fed by her hand. Her eyes smile. That is when I realize that my joy at admiring my situation is nowhere compared to her joy at being loved by winged creatures.
Conclusion– I am never going to stop wanting more. After all, I am only human. But no matter which stage of life I am in, or what plate I use to serve food, I am determined to smile the way she did for as long as I breathe.