Sunday, August 29, 2004


Yesterday I went to Suria KLCC.

Once again, I am (sort of) glad to say that is a milestone of sorts for me. My family – which extends to me – aren’t exactly aficionados of glamorous shopping centres, where Versace and Morgan de Toi rule the roost. I mean, sure I can pronounce the classy brand names, probably better than the actual consumers of said brands can. But I choose not to be another person to condone the societal mores of blatant class-dividing Italian tycoons with terrible names.

Okay, fine. I also don’t consume, because I can’t afford.

You know what I got yesterday? I went to Kinokuniya (which is my new favourite place, besides my bedroom) and got myself a novel. It’s a very good novel, but still. Most people I know go to Suria KLCC to buy really expensive stuff. CD’s, or a blazer from Topshop, maybe. But not me.

I go and buy a book.

Retail therapy really works for me. Sometimes I require actually attaining some materialistic achievement to feel happy. The rest of the time, I prefer people-watching, and it fills me up with happiness whenever I see a poor bloke, stuck within the walls of pressure from the society to match up with the rest of the world by buying all these things that would empty out their pockets, and not being able to do anything about it. As in, being so damned brand-conscious.

I revel in being a hippie of sorts, and not just in my dress sense, either. But once in a while – and one of these moments being yesterday – I wonder: Would I really be this sarcastic about brands and stuff if I could actually afford them?

My family and I, we call ourselves the middle- middle class. You know, that fine line between the upper-middle class – where they don’t have to worry about being paid the next day – and the lower-middle class, where you can live comfortably, but you can’t really splurge.

My family lives like that. I’m not ashamed of it either, most of the time, when I know that I have learned of the value of money (my friends will tell you that I know it all too well). But sometimes, I can’t help but feel whether owning that elusive Brit punk-band CD might just make me feel better.

Or maybe the question is, whether knowing that I could afford it would make me feel better.

I mean, I feel the pressure now and then. One of my classmates comes into class wearing an Adidas jacket, and I feel that little twinge of jealousy, and maybe a little pride, at the fact that I know better than to waste my money on clothes that don’t have much to it but the name.

And I know the designs and even quality or branded items may be nicer than most, but my mother has taught me that RM 20 for a t-shirt with a cutesy design is a bit pushing it. It may be a bit old fashioned, but I don’t mind. I just wonder.

My father has two jobs. He’s a unit trust agency manager-cum-financial planner on one hand, and on the other hand, he runs around, making several odd jobs, and a bit of newspaper advertising and printing deals. He is financially able to feed us, and clothe us, and keep a roof over our heads, and maybe even the occasional splurge on a fancy meal or new clothes. But I know that he’s not that wealthy, and that sometimes we spend more than we can actually afford. I’m not sorry we’re like this, though. I’m not sorry that I feel the pressure of the ringgit, squaring up on me when I stare it in the face. my father works like this because he quit his last job, nine years ago, out of dignity, and that is something I am silently – albeit fiercely – proud of.

But I listen to my roomies and their shopping escapades, and how they don’t have any qualms about spending their fathers’ money, because “he’s supposed to, anyway”, and I just wonder. Don’t get me wrong; I totally respect them, and they’re my close friends. But do I really want to live like that, knowing that I can afford anything I want, and not being afraid of burdening anyone?

Yesterday, I had a whale of a time watching people. You could tell from the way the clientele dressed, that KLCC was a rich people’s playground. They were all decked out in brands, from the hair bands they wore to their little (and slightly unnatural) toe rings. I scorn people like them. People who follow the crowd, and don’t know that there’s more to life than what they blatantly display on themselves. I think of them as superficial spazes, who don’t know the first thing about suffering, and about being human.

And yet I just wonder: If I could afford it, would I be like them too?

this has been a rant by Syazwina Saw at 7:21 pm

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