One of my biggest childhood dreams that stuck with me over the years, is the dream to have a home — one that I can call mine. I have almost always made mental notes whenever I’d see a pretty vase or some vintage frame (and promised myself how my house will have all of it — in different sizes, shapes and colours).
But everything that had to go wrong, did go wrong. And I pitied myself out of it. Before the world could even try, I convinced myself, pretty well in fact, that I don’t deserve one good thing. Not a bit of it.
Shit hit the fan. Merciless world.
And, my very smart therapist then asked me, “Vini, tell me what’s the best thing about hitting rock bottom?”
- you know you can’t go any further down, right?
And my escapist mentality found one way out — work. I worked, through my high school, bachelors, masters, during vacations, and during any and all possible hours that I could spare. It wasn’t about the money, as much as it was about escaping.
Then I got lucky.
I landed in jobs that made me happy and gave me a good cheque, for me to be able to afford things. To buy all pretty vases and vintage frames.
All I am trying to say is that money solves half of the problems in life. I worked day in and day out, sometimes multiple jobs at a time — to give myself everything that I ever I wanted, but never believed that I deserved.
You cannot buy happiness or peace, sure. But you can buy maa a new refrigerator (when she’s been using the same one for over eight years and wanting to buy a new one, but never did). You can give nani a flight ticket, her first ever experience. You can buy your niece a phone. You can buy food for stray animals. And maybe none of it astronomically makes their lives better, but I would like to think that it makes them smile, even if for a split second.
The point is, money lets you give into the whims. So, spend away. To see the world, to buy all the favourite dresses, to eat all the comforting food and to put the widest, brightest smiles on the people you so dearly love.
