The Mirage of Opulence and the Reality of Grace
Yes, we are indeed victims of our own making. Our lack of understanding of the workings of the mind—conscious, subconscious, and unconscious—has left us imprisoned in this physical form. Our insatiable cravings, our need to outdo others, and our obsession with gauging success through material accumulation have gone far beyond our basic need for survival. We are blinded by ignorance, trading the real and everlasting for the fleeting and ephemeral.
As long as we live in comfort and affluence, we fall under a false sense of contentment. And in this illusion of a successful life, we hand the same empty dream to our children, making their lives just as burdened, filled with expectations, hopes, and illusions. But even this, too, is part of the path. So long as we realize that life is merely a passing phase in time and space, there is redemption.
I had the opportunity to live for almost a year in Dubai, where my son is a pilot for Emirates Airline. He rented a villa in Falcon City, about a half-hour’s drive from the city center. Thanks to him, I had a taste of an affluent lifestyle. I was even taken to dinner at the Atlantis Hotel at the tip of the Palm Village—a meal I’ll never forget. A plate of sushi—twenty pieces of salmon rolls, squid, a few tiny oysters—cost RM700! I nearly flipped when I saw the bill. And the sushi, by Japanese standards (and I lived in Japan for three years), was quite underwhelming.
On his Christmas and New Year liquor run, he drove out of Dubai to a township where a giant liquor barn was located. After loading his SUV with assorted drinks, I glanced at the bill—RM6000. The Dirham and the Ringgit are nearly equal in value, so the cost struck hard.
My son, now a captain, has a good head on his shoulders and knows how to live well. He converted a large room into a home theater that rivals most cinemas in Malaysia. He kept a 300-gallon saltwater fish tank, maintained by a professional on call. As an ice hockey goalkeeper for one of the Emirates teams, his storage room was filled with gear—scuba diving sets and more. He even had the company of elegant stewardesses spending evenings at his place.
As a father, I was both amazed and speechless at times by the sheer opulence, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Then he got married, and that marked the end of my Arabian dream. Still, I’m grateful. I had a taste of a life that many only dream of.
I do not crave such extravagance, nor am I keen on global travel anymore. The hassle of airports, the surrealism of shopping malls—it often feels like stepping into a fantasy world. Dubai can certainly do that. It’s awe-inspiring to witness a city built over sand dunes, where people drink desalinated seawater and bathe in luxury. But it’s also a place where it’s easy to forget the real world—the world where survival is still a daily struggle for many. An RM6000 liquor bill could be three months’ salary for a family back home.
Dubai is like a sandcastle, a shining mirage of a dream life, built on wealth and illusion. My son, even in all his affluence, was just average compared to the real high-rollers there. And yet, he is a testimony to what is possible with determination and drive. I am proud of him, not for his wealth, but for his spirit.
Perhaps the aging process has dulled my sense of adventure and longing for more. I no longer envy nor judge. I simply feel that—for me—enough is enough. To crave more is simply greed.
I now stay grounded, anchored in caring for my two children who are stepping into adulthood, working, and striving to make ends meet. If I can assist them in any small way, I will. I believe that my reliance on them as a father is also a way to offer them a sense of responsibility and pride, that they are fulfilling a sacred filial duty.
Yes, I would much rather live as a humble farmer on the edge of the jungle in Lintang, Kedah. But one cannot have it all, especially not when one's heart is called to serve those who need one’s presence.
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