Can You Trust Me?

Alternative title to this entry may include “Of tossers and wankers” and “It’s all about the moolah”.

Winter is coming to an end, and I can’t hardly wait for spring to set in, or is it here already? Even the word itself sounds better than winter, and it’s the same in Italian too, ‘primavera’ (spring) as opposed to ‘inverno’ (winter). Also, ‘inverno’ sounds too much like ‘inferno’, which means hell. Oh well, just a bit of wordplay there.

No matter what season it is, the talk of money is always an awkward one. I hate talking about it, and I hate it even more when others just assumed that just because I have it (or so they think), I am a happy person. How big a load of crap is that? In any case, the reason why I am actually talking about money right now is that lately I have been talking to a couple of friends who have an issue with money. It’s not that they are really broke or anything, it’s just that they aren’t making as much as they would like now (and plus the fact that they didn’t come from duper rich families), that they formed a complex for themselves, feeling all low and inadequate and think (wrongly so, if you ask me) that almost all problems can be solved by money. That is so not true, for sure. It doesn’t take a genius to tell you that but when you are caught up with issues, you are caught up and simply can’t think straight.

I have tried to tell them in the subtlest way possible to make them understand money is indeed a lot of things but it is definitely not everything, however cliché it may sound. It helps, I don’t deny, but it still is not the ultimate remedy. Despite my effort to put it in an ever so subtle (or so I though at least) way, they still think I don’t understand enough and am somewhat talking shit just because I have the moolah (or so they think, again). If that’s the case, why even bother talking to me, hey? I definitely feel indignant on this one. I don’t want to make an issue out of this, but it’s really getting to me that I have mostly been portrayed as a bloody snob and a spoilt little rich bastard, who can’t live without buying, using and eating expensive stuff. Alright, this is gonna be tad self-indulging. I know I do own heaps of fancy clothes but I still wear Giordano T’s on the inside. I have flashy watches and accessories but still use a Lamy pen. I use expensive organic hair and facial products but still use Colgate for toothpaste. I go to restaurants ever so often and hate food courts (due to very valid reasons) but still have the odd cravings for junk like Nando’s and KFC. I love an expensive bottle of wine but won’t gag on a Cleanskin either. I insist on Calvins for inner wear but still wear socks from Target. And to top it off, I bloody live in Collingwood, one of the craziest and dumpiest suburbs in Melbourne (although I must admit the first thing I will do when I get notice of being here for work on a more permanent basis is to move into a nice little apartment and get myself a nice little car). But for now, how glamorous can I be living in the ghetto? I make and own as much as the next guy and harbour the same wish of being Ritchie Rich. So what if my family is indeed pretty darn rich and all? I am finally admitting that but so what? The option of calling home for money is not really an option as such because I know I will never do it again. Besides, didn’t I fall out big time with my two brothers simply because of money? That’s one of the reasons why I hate to make money an issue too.

Why do people think that I am this rich, spoilt, pretentious and intimidating bastard? Why are they so afraid of making a suggestion for a restaurant or bar whenever I am around? Will I die or something if it turns out to be a shit hole? I will never look down on anyone just because they have less and are not blessed with the freedom of spending as they wish. On that note, education is not a criterion when it comes to making friends too. I am not who they think I am, and I know it. It’s up to them if they want to trust me or not.

I’m tired of telling people what I think they want to hear and I promise it’ll rarely happen again. I am the way I am and I’ll continue to sell myself as so until further notice.

After all, I won’t do something like contacting people whom I have not seen/talked to for a while just because I have products to sell or some dodgy business deals to propose. I’m saying this because I have been getting mails from “friends” (whom I haven’t met for yonks or have forgotten even) wanting something from me. They all started out as being really keen on catching up and all but by the second mail, their real intentions will be revealed/exposed. How fake is that? It’s almost disgusting! To think that I initially thought they are being sincere and friendly, damn. I understand everybody has business to do and a living to make, but come on, don’t do that! I have sentiments too!

I’m not trying to prove a point here. I just think that I happen to be more real than most, although I may not seem like so on the surface. At least I will never do anything with a hidden agenda hoping to get something in return.

I have been doing a lot of walking again, in the form of long walks. I used to do it heaps, it’s nice. It gives me a tad of solitude and a chance to go through my thoughts. It’s almost as relaxing and liberating as a good game of squash. Maybe what Jason Mraz says is true, that ‘I take long walks while invisible when I am sad’. It certainly seems like so.

Those people who were caught in the little sticky mess that I mentioned back in April have certainly sorted themselves out and have paired up accordingly. Me, the single and fabulous me, is still single and fabulous. Hell yeah. Can you still trust me on dishing out advice on relationships and shit like that? Yeah, you definitely can, ‘cos I will make sure you have a nice little happy ending. That ending will be yours and yours to keep, I will never take it away from you and it will never be mine. You get what I mean?

At least I am honest.

Honest.

(Title attributed to a song of the same name by The Film, aka the song for the Peugeot 407 ad)