Different Views on Money, Different Worlds

Someone once asked me, “What’s your ultimate goal?”

I said, “To become the way I want to be.”

He pressed further: “But what kind of ‘way’ is that? Some people say the thing we all secretly avoid admitting is that we just want to be rich—but we’re too embarrassed to say it.”

I deleted him right after that. Completely.

When I was a teenager, I set a rule for myself: I would end my life at thirty.

Because the world seemed dull, predictable—a loop of acceptance and obedience.

If I had to live as someone else’s version of “good,” I thought, then it wasn’t worth living.

So I decided to prove, with my own choices, that the world really is boring.

But as I made every decision on my own terms, I somehow stayed alive.

And when thirty came, I found I still had things to do—things to finish, thoughts to test.

Maybe after that, I can die “naturally.”

If the goal of life is simply “to be rich,” then yes—life would be painfully dull.

I love money, but I love being rich enough to live like a wanderer even more—

to sit anywhere without worry,

and still afford a quiet night in a decent hotel.

Money is only a costume of freedom, not freedom itself.

My idol once said:

“If you’re going to throw money out the window, at least do it with passion—don’t look so fake.”

And I think:

Anyone who can throw money out the window probably isn’t afraid to admit that they like making it.