The Other Half

Missing out on a world of experience, without even knowing it

Near where we live, there’s a gated residential compound.

It’s huge, and it’s very fancy. You can tell even from the outside. A thick fence that conceals everything from view, leafy trees that are taller even than the fence, and a great big entry way that can probably fit four cars so all members of your family can drive in at the same time.

I’ve often joked to my partner that this is where “the other half” lives, the people with more money than we can ever dream of, those who own five cars that cost more than a house each and probably have a butler at home.

On the scale of money and status, I am below them. They are the other—upper—half, and I’m in the lower one. I mean, that’s how maths works right? Two halves equal one whole.

I’ve always seen myself as a lower-half person. I’ve always been comfortable money-wise, but I didn’t grow up atop a mountain of gold coins,¹ didn’t have a maid/nanny waiting on me, didn’t eat out at fancy restaurants that children really shouldn’t be eating at.²

It was only a couple of weeks ago that I made a startling discovery: Maybe I’m also not in the lower half, maybe I’m a mathematical anomaly that exists somewhere in the twilight zone.

Let me elaborate.

My partner and I were spending the weekend doing a staycation at a fancy hotel, and after checking out, we went meandering around the neighbourhood. We had been told of a square which was nice to stroll around, so we went to check it out.

Turns out the “square” was actually a circle formed of (I’m going to do my best to paint a picture for you here) a series of lotus ponds with crisscrossing concrete walkways over them. Around the circle of ponds was a circular concrete path, along which a number of vendors stood selling food, snacks, and drinks.

The “square” was full of people. Sitting on the concrete walkways, on the edge of the pond, along the outer circular path. Eating and being merry with their other half and/or friends.

Almost all of the people were Vietnamese. None of the vendor menus being waved in my face had a word of English. I looked at the scene and the first thought that came to mind was how local this was. I felt out of place, yet also curious.

My non-Vietnamese partner mentioned he’d like to come back to hang out by the ponds one day, buy food and drinks from the vendors, and just sit on the walkway and watch the world go by. But that he’d understand if I didn’t want to join him because he knew this wasn’t my thing.

That’s when it hit me: It’s not that this wasn’t my thing. It’s that I’d never done it before.

The realisation struck me like lightning, and I was actually speechless for a fair few minutes, pondering how it came to be that I’d never experienced how this other half lives, the other half that sits and eats on the street with friends with no care in the world and no discernible concern for where they might go to pee if the need arose.

As thoughts were unfurling in my head, my partner went on talking about how this was pretty much the Asia he’d experienced in all his years living in Vietnam—life on the streets, food down hidden alleys, menus that didn’t have English on them—and that I’d be missing out on half the experience of living in Asia if I kept only eating at fancy restaurants and doing five-star staycations.³

Correct me if you’re from Thailand and I’m horribly wide off the mark here, my understanding is that there’s a widespread perception in the Land of Smiles that street life is for those who cannot afford the air-conditioned, five-star life. That it’s not so much a choice as an imposition.

As I rake my brains and think back through my years growing up in Thailand, I’m having difficulty conjuring up a memory of me experiencing the street life. The closest I’m getting is eating on the streets in Chinatown. But that’s not really street life, that’s just what everyone has to do if they want to taste the famous culinary offerings of Chinatown.

I never went and sat by the roadside, eat and drink on the street, if I had the choice. I’ve consciously adopted a lifestyle for myself that dictates the following minimum requirements for any outing: a clean toilet, either air conditioning or a cool breeze, a comfy spot to rest my bum.⁴

It’s not that I think I’m above life on the streets. I just haven’t done it before.

And this discovery blew my mind.

I seem to have found myself in the weird space between two halves, never to set foot in that fancy complex as a resident, but also never having experienced the other half of life in Asia.

I wonder how that came to be. It’s a question I have no answer to. It’s probably one I’ll have to keep pondering. I’m only just beginning to scratch the surface here.

How about you? Which half are you in, or are you also caught in between? Leave a reply, post a comment, share this with your friend who lives in the fancy residential complex so they can come and tell me what life there is like.

And if you know me personally and have seen me experience life on the streets, please do let me know when and where that was. I’d be glad for my memory to be proven wrong so I feel less like an anomaly.

Until next Friday… Stay cool, stay safe, stay thoughtful,

Val

1. Insert Scrooge McDuck GIF.

2. I mean, really, why would you feed your five-year-old caviar?

3. Oh but I do love my staycations.

4. No stools for me, thank you.