People can be inquisitive, and I don't blame them.
Yet, when they (especially the First World folks) ask about my life, how I live, where I sleep, etc. I try my dang best not to tell them. Why? Because then I would feel incredibly guilty. Why? Because merely saying it, as honestly as I possibly can, somehow makes them sympathize with me, or pity me, or feel as if they have the need to help me.
Now, I'm not an ungrateful prick; I very much appreciate the help and concern I receive. But I'm an independent fellow, and I prefer to fight my own battles. That said, I was born in this lifestyle I'm living, so saying I've become "used to it" is a bit of an understatement.
It's amusing how people are baffled when you tell them how people in the Third World live their lives. Of course, those in the First World would find it incredibly inconvenient and uncomfortable. And they look down upon me. I hate it when they look down upon me like that. Sometimes I feel that rather than trying to "help" me I should force those people to live my life, at least for a month. But that's just me and my bias speaking.
And I was offered a bed by someone. They said they'd buy it for me, and I wouldn't have to pay for it.
But pardon me: even if I had a bed I would rather sleep on the floor like I always do. There are those sheer beauties and miseries of it that I would rather not forget, even if I strike it rich. My past is important to me.
P.S.: Just to make my point clear, in case someone has missed it, feeling sorry for the way I live is downright insulting for me.
