Bling

I have some new bling. Actually, I have some amazing bling, but here, in Sri Lanka, I am ashamed of my bling. However, between you and me, I am secretly thrilled. Bill has always been reluctant to spoil me. I had to beg for an engagement ring and finally, three years after we were married, my bullying finally secured me a modest diamond trinity ring. So, it was with delight that I accepted a personality change in him that left him an impulsive gem stone shopper. Rare and precious gem stones are mined and sold here in Sri Lanka. He bought me a few baubles.

However, there is no real delight in having these lovely possessions here. At home, a shiny piece of bling is a reflection of what we choose to do with our disposable income. Some people buy fancy cars, a motorboat, a place at the lake or a boy toy of some sort. We show them off as symbols of our success and their purchase, in no way, affects our ability to secure our food, housing or security. Here, however, the bling I wear on my finger represents a family wage for a year. Here, people go hungry. Here, people wear ragged clothing. Here, people live in shanties. Here, people get worn down by generational poverty.

There is little joy in wearing a bauble in the face of that. However, the diva in me, that I have no control over, cannot stop wearing them. She thinks they are so lovely. However, I make her turn the ring inside her hand on the bus. I refuse to let her flaunt them here. She will have to wait until she gets home to do that.
Please do not think less of me. I want to be a princess, at least sometimes.