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 one another, our obsession with measuring success by material gain—all this has pushed us far beyond the simple call of survival.
We are blinded by ignorance, trading the eternal for the fleeting, the real for the illusory.
As long as we are cushioned in comfort and affluence, we drift under the spell of contentment. And in this illusion of a successful life, we pass down the same hollow dream to our children—burdening them with expectations, ambitions, and mirages of their own. Still, even this has its place. If we awaken to the truth that life is but a passing phase in time and space, there lies our redemption.
I once lived for nearly a year in Dubai, where my son, a pilot for Emirates Airline, had rented a villa in Falcon City, about an hour from the city center. Thanks to him, I experienced a taste of the affluent life. I dined at the Atlantis Hotel, perched at the edge of the Palm Village—an unforgettable evening. A modest plate of sushi—twenty salmon rolls, a few slivers of squid, and some tiny oysters—cost nearly RM700. I nearly fell off my seat when I saw the bill. And truth be told, the sushi didn’t quite match the standards of those I’d come to know while living in Japan for three years.
On a Christmas and New Year's liquor run, he drove me to a giant liquor barn outside the city. He filled his SUV with fine wines and spirits, and the bill? RM6000. The Dirham and Ringgit are almost one-to-one, so it stung.
My son, now a captain, is level-headed and knows how to live well. He built a home theatre that rivals cinemas in Malaysia. He maintained a 300-gallon saltwater tank, professionally serviced. His store room brimmed with scuba gear, ice hockey equipment—he was a goalkeeper for one of the Emirates teams—and more. Elegant stewardesses often graced the evenings with their presence.
As a father, I was both proud and speechless at times—awed by the opulence, yet quietly reflective. Then he got married, and with that, my Arabian dream ended. Still, I am deeply grateful. I tasted a life many only dream of.
But I do not crave such extravagance. Nor do I yearn for global travel anymore. The airport lines, the glittering malls—they feel more like illusions than experiences. Dubai can dazzle. It’s astounding to witness a city rise out of sand dunes, where seawater becomes drinkable and luxury is poured into every corner. But such marvels can make you forget the world-the—real world—where survival is still a daily task for many. RM6000 on liquor could feed a family back home for three months.
Dubai is a sandcastle, a gleaming mirage of wealth built on illusion. My son, even with all he had, was merely average compared to the high-rollers who called the place home. Yet he is a testament to what can be achieved with will and discipline. I am proud, not of the wealth, but of his perseverance.
Perhaps it is age that has dulled my appetite for more. I no longer envy, nor do I judge. I simply feel that, for me, enough is enough. To want more is just another form of greed.
Today, I remain grounded, devoted to caring for my two younger children, who are stepping into adulthood, working hard, and carving out their own place in the world. If I can ease their path in any small way, I will. Perhaps my reliance on them as a father allows them the grace to serve, fulfilling a sacred, age-old duty.
Yes, I would rather live as a humble farmer on the edge of the jungle in Lintang, Kedah, than chase the next shimmering dream. But we cannot have it all, especially not when the heart is called to serve, to be present, and to simply be.
This is the grace that remains when the mirages dissolve.
This is the real wealth of the journey.
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