simple

I once knew a man whom many, including myself, would call simple. A recluse, he lived in a quiet estate away from the noise of the city. I'd heard stories that he was an heir to a large sum of money, yet there was nothing to show for it. He didn't drive an expensive car (or own a car, even), neither did he eat at classy restaurants, and his 3 room flat could best be described as spartan. He was a teacher in a secondary school, even though his qualifications could easily have earned him a place in a high paying job. Rumor had it that he even donated the bulk of his salary every month, keeping only a small portion for his daily necessities. And I wondered why.

If he had the money, why didn't he want to live a more luxurious life? Perhaps he didn't dare to dream big? Wouldn't anyone want what was better? Or was he actually a miser?

But no, he told me, creature comforts weren't things that were new to him (but of course!). Big houses, big cars and big bucks were once the norm. And yet somehow all these could only occupy him temporarily. He found himself being unsatisfied even after procuring all these which he once coveted. It was a vicious cycle, he told me. There was nothing that could satisfy him for long, his money could never be enough, no device which couldn't become outdated and obsolete. And he found himself becoming less and less of a person, a victim and prisoner to his own wealth.

He never really elaborated much after that, but by then I knew. What the world had to offer simply wasn't enough for him. He had tasted the world's very best and deemed it to be of inferior quality. And I realized, then, that it wasn't him who was simple.

It was us.