Rich, Famous or a Normal Life!

I am okay with my present status of a common man running and walking normally. But when I see a film star having developed artificial 6-8 pack abs in a hurry and behaving like Superman living in a world of fantasy, which in fact they are not, the reality leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

I do not really understand how they feel while posing like a superman, knowing well that everything they do (maybe most of them use a duplicate to do what we see on screen) is not real.

What about you guys?

Would you want to be rich and famous at the cost of your personal freedom?

If you ask me, I won’t mind being rich but still live like a common man. I hate showmanship, which gives you a false sense of a superiority complex.

Probably people with a lot of stinking money live in a world of fantasy where people from the actual world are nothing but spades for them.

But I know many people just opposite to what's described above. They will act like they have nothing to eat, so try to gain the sympathy of their friends.

You ask if I would trade my soul for your applause or myself under a bargain struck beneath blazing lights and the hush of breathless crowds. Imagine a stage that stretches to the horizon, velvet curtains drawn, a thousand lenses focused like hungry moons. I can't imagine wealth coming like the top ten on the world's richest list from unknown sources. I understand they have made enough efforts so they can build cities.

I believe fame arrives in thundering footsteps, a crown of flashing cameras and hollow bouquets.

Yet, I feel with each handshake, some money of quietness in mind slips away. For me, my privacy is prime that I don't want to lose at the cost of stinking money. For me the small things like a morning with friends in park, an unguarded laugh with an old friend.

I am not interested in a late-night doubt that bothers me in the morning. I don't want my home turns into a museum where my memories are displayed behind costly but useless things.

Don't you think the freedom is the most daring contraband, which for me means walking the streets unrecognized, answering a child’s question without a speechwriters edit.

The price for being too rich is in sudden catastrophe but in slow motion. First, the small renunciations, then the compromises compound, a smile exchanged for a headline, a secret kept to prevent scandal, a truth softened to protect a brand. I

In the end, I don't want to stand on the balcony of a mansion that echoes with applause but no conversation. So would I choose riches and renown over the messy, unpredictable grace of personal freedom?

Would you make that trade?

Both are good, but I want to be myself at the end. I am happy with my normal travels and walks without coming into any limelight.