I Am Rich

I am rich. Yes, your heard that right. I am rich. Not as in “rica”, nor as in one-of-each-no-need-for-the-bill-here’s-the-card-and-a-lil-hundreddollar-tip. No.

My wealth comes from deeper inside, Sprinkled in my routine Or as I momentarily leave its grasp.

It looks like a lunch date by myself, cars driving past, as I wind down alone because the days have been just too much; and suddenly, ping! on my phone: there’s a friend knowing to ask if something is wrong.

It looks like my first time in Copenhagen, tourists crazily photographing a sight they don’t even see, as I sit in Nyhavn, cold feet, clammy hands, blinded as the winter sun heaves, and I think, here is where I might truly find home for me.

It looks like driving with my family after eighteen years of doing the same Different car, yes, and different images indicating us our way; but deep down we haven’t changed––Maybe just the face–– still we seat in our corresponding place, discuss the latest life scheme at hand, terribly sing along with Lady Gaga or Miguel Bosé, or quietly share the minutes left of the ride at hand. That atmosphere of comfort prevails, in between the words, between the silences, and specially between the lives that as individuals we create in parallel

Lastly let me tell you how some days ago I felt rich!

It was a more special one indeed, and somewhat unexpected for past me. My friends and I are suddenly eighteen, and in a boat one of them celebrated this. I wished to speak no longer, my skin ached from the salt and the sun. The rest kept talking, planning, laughing, but I needn’t take part.

I was content with watching the waves we sailed past, their rhythmic swaying, their synched up and down. My mind was blank; it was all in my heart

Words felt unnecessary for I was there, with them, a connection having pulled us together to that moment in time.

I felt rich, I am rich. At every then, and even now. It is a state of mind, a state of heart, rather than a state of my bank account.