I just can't wrap my head around rich people.
Was tending to a patient, and to keep her calm while we observed her vitals, I started to small talk with her. Asked her what she does. She said she's a house-wife. I asked her, "No, I mean, like, how do you spend your day?" and she said "I'm an artist". Then she told me about having a studio at home, she said it's so nice and peaceful to be able to spend all day staying inside painting. She sells them too. I was thinking to myself in what world could I ever have that life, where I could afford to spend all day tending to my hobbies. As I checked her pulse, I wondered who cooks the meals at her house. The skin of her hands was so supple, as if she'd never washed a dish or done laundry. I wondered who dusted the couches, or cleaned out the pantry, or swept the floors?
Today in the morning, my mother was sweeping the driveway, all the way to the street road. While my dad looked away into space, I woke up to my mother screaming at my father "I'm gonna strangle you if I find you ogling at her again!". My mother's clothes are always torn. She doesn't accept my gifts. She never bought new clothes for herself so she could feed us. Her hands are coarse. The skin on the heels of her feet has peeled off. Her cheeks sag down way beyond her age. (for those wondering why I wasn't sweeping the road, it's because in our culture, an unmarried woman cannot just be exposed like that, bent down in public with a broom, although I do not care myself. When mama isn't around, I dust the car, even if it gets some stares, but I can't care anymore about people. They just want to stare at a woman, they're gonna find an excuse anyway. But my mama wouldn't have her girls sweeping the floors like that. She has fought all her life so we wouldn't have the same fate as herself.) My mother was an artist too. She crafted some wonderful pieces, ....all before a legal bondage with a man, and a job.
I wonder where all these rich ladies come from? Do they fly down from another planet? With all their rings, and their necklaces, and laminated brows, and hair all kinds of brown and gold, treated to look glossy and perfect. With their husbands always looking so worried for them. Always holding their hands, whispering love and affection. It is not real. It is like out of a french romance. This does not happen in our middle class reality. It is like I'm touching a mirror, looking into a parallel world.
Today in the morning, my mother was sweeping the driveway, all the way to the street road. While my dad looked away into space, I woke up to my mother screaming at my father "I'm gonna strangle you if I find you ogling at her again!". My mother's clothes are always torn. She doesn't accept my gifts. She never bought new clothes for herself so she could feed us. Her hands are coarse. The skin on the heels of her feet has peeled off. Her cheeks sag down way beyond her age. (for those wondering why I wasn't sweeping the road, it's because in our culture, an unmarried woman cannot just be exposed like that, bent down in public with a broom, although I do not care myself. When mama isn't around, I dust the car, even if it gets some stares, but I can't care anymore about people. They just want to stare at a woman, they're gonna find an excuse anyway. But my mama wouldn't have her girls sweeping the floors like that. She has fought all her life so we wouldn't have the same fate as herself.) My mother was an artist too. She crafted some wonderful pieces, ....all before a legal bondage with a man, and a job.
I wonder where all these rich ladies come from? Do they fly down from another planet? With all their rings, and their necklaces, and laminated brows, and hair all kinds of brown and gold, treated to look glossy and perfect. With their husbands always looking so worried for them. Always holding their hands, whispering love and affection. It is not real. It is like out of a french romance. This does not happen in our middle class reality. It is like I'm touching a mirror, looking into a parallel world.
26-30, F
