Feathered Features (Feature and Essay Writing, Feature and Essay Articles)

2: So Rich That All The World Is Just My Bedroom

11/2019

So Rich That All The World
Is Just My Bedroom

I am so rich.

I dine out for bottles of bubbles with friends all the time. I can even go and sleep whenever and wherever I want. This life of mine is all fun and luxury. Being so famous, my name is ablaze. And with the whole world's curiosity buzzing, everybody's looking for me... including the police.

My life rocks. I can sleep in without a problem, go on late night outs with friends doing whatnots, and get everything I want.

"Brother, you're home early," said my little sister, sparkling her eyes at me. "I'm hungry. I want fri--"

"Fried chicken and ice cream?" I cut her off, knowing what she's always been craving for and gave them to her. She was so happy, she hugged me squealing. Smiling so wide from ear to ear that I was afraid her face would rip apart any moment.

By the way, I fell in love with a very fancy watch earlier at an auction. It's golden body was begging to be worn. It's embedded diamonds were calling me... I wanted it.

So, what did I do?

I took it.

Everything I want, I get.

Suddenly, knocks poured on our front door. Who could that be? Paparazzi? Nobody else knows our location. I kept it that way. Confidential, for security purposes.

The knocks were still persistent until the door burst open and I was greeted with two gruff men in blue. They towered over me. I know moments like this all too well. And in a blink of an eye, I was snatched out of our mansion. Into a sirened car. Into a prison cell. "Officers wait! My poor little sister is all alone in our mansion. And I think I left my Lamborghini on with it's car keys still in the ignition." As I stretched my hand beyond the bars, an officer looked me up and down. With a smug smirk on his face and an amused glint in his eyes--- wait, what else is that I see? Pity? Disgust? He barked saying,

"Shut up, street rat. Stop dreaming."

Street rat. Very. Very. Familiar. I have been called by many names. I have heard that many times. And it happens to be my personal favorite. I chuckled dryly.

Street rat. Yes, I am one.

I could not even fathom how they managed to come up with such name. To correlate and connect such terms together. A normal human being with a mind, a heart, and a soul associated with a rodent, the dirtiest of them all. All cramped into a compound word.

How creative of them.

And how heartless.

The world is my bedroom, yes. For I have no home. Nowhere else to go. And yet you who are provided a house, a home desires freedom away from it. I go out with friends everyday, yes. Begging for something to eat. Yet you who are served plates by your mothers still crave for more, choose your food, reject those you don't want and throw away the rest.

Some do not have the luxury of food.

Others don't even have mothers.

And we lack both.

Thank you, though. Those food you throw away, in one way or another, are gifts to us. Blessings. Though it would have been much helpful if you decided to offer it directly rather than watch us search trash bins for them. But nonetheless, we're still thankful.

At night, either we stay awake or seek for a place to spend it in. Only to get scolded for trespassing even though the park is a public place. Or battered for being hardheaded and disobedient. Or discriminated because of our state. Eventually, we are still your equals. Maybe you have forgotten but we also have beautiful and creative minds, loving and caring hearts, and maybe the purest souls. Apart from the stealing we are forced by fate to do for survival.

I'm sorry... I'm not even the one who wrote this. I never had the chance to learn how. But can I ask you a favor? The next time you see me, think about how comfortable your life is. Think about how loved you are by your family. Especially your parents. I never knew mine. Thank them for it. Thank them for everything. Thank them for me, please.

Promise me then that you will always be grateful with all that you are given. Don't take for granted ever again the food on your table, the roof on your head, the bed in which you sleep, and the people around you.

But I did not lie. I truly am rich. In dreams, in hope. I wanted more. But I needed help. People treat us as if we wanted our lives to turn out this way. Who does? Who did?

I have all the will and the determination to be more, yet, just by facades, you deem us disgusting and dumb. And also maybe, unworthy of your help. But if I were truly wealthy, I'd be sure to help those in need. Like me.

Here I am. So rich. In mind, in heart, and in spirit. But neglected by society.