Dealing with Envy: Second Cup

     
 
The second cup of a two-courses article. Click here for the first cup.

It isn't Greener on the Other Side

We have this old espresso machine; single serving and makes great coffee when enough gallons of milk and sugar are added into it. As I prepared his Excellency's coffee, I heard the neighbors' voices, and the it's thought about them drove my envy awry.

My neighbors next door consists of four households sharing a 200 meter-square house amongst twelve of its members. The adults are all unemployed, and live off the Timekeeper's charity. Their children can barely make it through high-school, much less even think about going to college.

My neighbors might hear the sounds that our beat espresso machine makes every morning. They might hear us talk about how strong or bitter was our coffee. They might even be able to smell the distinct and rurally-rare scent of a cup of Java, frothing with cream and love.

But they might never know how it actually tastes. Imagine their envy.

Let's say that one day I felt nice from too much white guilt, and decided to share my coffee with the folks living next door. On that day, I'd either spend my entire coffee stock on them, or pay a very expensive electric bill by the end of the month. Either I share the coffee and forget about ever having it again (until I restock from Aceh and Jakarta), or that I mesmerize its essence a little longer, be grateful for yet another morning starting with that kind of excellence, say cheers and sip.

Epiphany in Every Cup

The conflict between keeping and giving my coffee to the tribe next door suddenly made my envy in Anggi seem trivial. Generosity and resources have their limits, and people do take each other for granted or might not even enjoy coffee like the Timekeeper and I. So even if I stretched all my resources thin, I really shouldn't be walking on the street offering coffee to the entire village, or sanatorium.

By having my coffee today doesn't necessarily mean that I'm stingy or insensitive to the neighbors (I'm not flaunting about it elsewhere, aright?), it's just what I'm able to afford for the time being. Maybe tomorrow Anggi's going to have it instead of me. Who knows?

[Besides, his success is causing the kind of euphoria that only Acehnese ganja can give; which is not a bad thing on its own, but in the formation of his future challenges. Anggi can kiss every single one of his small and simpler life-goals goodbye, because from now on, he's got to climb higher achievement mountains. Like lengthy feature films, or campaigning for the legalization of cinema in Saudi. Or signing contracts. Scary, man.]

Heck I'm a severe underachiever to think that my brother's career is a fuss compared to my own barely robust blogging life. I get ecstatic over menial things like blog traffics and readership. If you are one of the thirty readers who come here every time I post, then consider yourself the best readers in the world from eyes of this blogger.

If Anggi's goal next year is to have million movie viewers, then that's the only right goal for him. It won't make much sense if he expects 30 readers to come to his blog, not only because he doesn't have one, but also because that's just not his cup of coffee.

Disparity of Luck, Brings Disparity of Wealth, Resulting in Disparity of Goals.
When it comes to the dispersion of wealth and luck, it's a waste of time and energy trying to equate the amount received by all, rather than spend it in making the personal effort to tempt abundance by being grateful for what we already have. And we do have plenty. A simple life. A steady routine. Absence of judgmental relatives.

As far as I'm concerned, I'm the one enjoying early morning routines with a cup of well-made coffee, in the company of someone who has proven himself consistently loyal and loving. Yes, to me.

With whom I shared these thoughts with, by the way, and responded perfectly to be placed here, as this article's conclusion, "You look upwards only in matters that enrich your soul and mind, look downwards in matters that satiate your body. The body is meant only to be a vessel, not the destination, for which the mind should reach and the soul should transcend."

Hence, instead of the tired Not-said-by-Antoinette proverb, I'd say,


Cheers, mates.

 
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