< system of a down? >

   Like a lot of people, I grew up not having much money.  I live - and I mean literally live - on a hundred bucks a schoolday.  Some students may cry oppression over issues of allowance, but I don't.  A hundred bucks is enough to buy my lunch, my cigarettes, the daily beer (long ago when I still had the urge to drink) and the Internet.

   Not having money gives me a new sense of freedom since I get to do what I want with what little I have.  We're in dire straits now ever since my dad's little incident with a car and a scooter and I think I'd do fine being poor for the rest of my life.  I've grown on the fact that being rich will not make you happy, and I've dwelt on the fact that given my course, I'll be anything but a rich man.

   Which brings me to rich people.  Being rich gives me more problems than I'm willing to face.  I'm willing to let go of dreams of money and live the life of a Tondo squatter: after all, Bill Gates is not a social anthropologist.  I am.  Who knows how much money I would make betraying indigenous peoples for their land?

   I got to talk about this whole "me getting rich" with my mom, who said that she'll probably disown me if I live an unprincipled life.  Getting a job as a professional consultant (OK, apologist) with a logging company would have me having a pseudonym of "Maro" and I'd probably be dying all over again in my wake.

   Anyway, back to being poor for the rest of my life.  My parents, over and over again, stress the "reality checks" that I have to face about being poor.  For one, they expect grandchildren.  Me and my bro have no plans about getting married because we vowed celibacy (he's a computer science major).  I ain't no Manny Pacquiao who'll rise from rags to riches.

   Maybe I'm disappointing my parents.