The school of life

"The only problem with having money is that they never accepted me into the School of Life," Alessandro said with a mocking tone. He is one of the few millionaires I met in the old continent, and, although it sounds strange, he is a quite humble guy.

I was telling him that Bolivia is a primarily rural country. Even people like him, who have a lot of money and education, usually have a very poor village in their ancestry. Something perhaps unusual in these lands, as the majority of European wealth has remained in a few families in the big cities for centuries.

In any case, what I wanted to share about Alessandro is that it seems strange to me that he never stops complaining about life. He has problems with his car, with his partner, with his family, with his surroundings; to put it in one word, he is unhappy.

Every time I chat with him, my brother's maxim comes to one ear: "I can't feel empathy for people with money." Meanwhile, the other ear responds with a "It's because you're envious."

And maybe both ears are right, surely there is envy of the heaven-sent money, but I can't feel compassion for someone who suffers their problems while sipping mojitos and eating salmon on the beach.

In all that contemplation about money, I opened my wallet and found an old 10-peso bill at the bottom. I think that bill is worthless in my country now, but when I was eight years old, that piece of paper was a real fortune. In fact, just seeing the bill brought on a wave of nostalgia, and I felt like a millionaire from the past.

"What will always be learned in that School of Life?" I wondered before putting it back.