Nausea

Having gone down to Sanur this morning to pay my water bill at the little post office, I missed the usual turn on the way back to the highway, and so took the next road. I've taken this road before, but not in a long while. And what struck me this time around was that it is lined with extravagant villas, behind high walls, of course; and in the extravagant villas live extravagant westerns, mostly white people, some having an Indonesian wife, all having Indonesian maids and groundskeepers and pool cleaners and so on. And a wave of nausea came over me. The thought of these people living their lives of abundance in their glorious villas, all in the midst of the abject poverty all around them--poverty and hunger and want--and most of those less fortunate people actually serving these kings and queens in one way or another--as waitresses or cooks or clerks or barkeepers and bargirls--I don't know ... it just made me feel ill.

Of course, these rich folks will say that they have earned their abundance; and who knows, maybe they have. Still, it seems somehow offensive to be living so, as if they are flaunting their wealth, living in their little enclaves among the peasants. Why not live more simply, I wonder, and use your resources to benefit others?

I've always felt uncomfortable in villas, with the real world walled off, the wealth walled in. The truth is that most of these expansive villas house only one or two people. Is it not a waste?

Well, I've worked hard, they will say. I've earned my place.

Still, I just think they could earn much more through a wealth that was also invested in generosity and compassion.