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OPINION by Mamal Ermaqi/ Why I chose to be rich

2025-11-12 18:10:00Patronazhisti SHKRUAR NGA REDAKSIA VOX
The author at the age of eight

Have you ever woken up late in the morning because your alarm didn't go off? To get up in a rage, to smash the alarm clock on the floor, and then to remember that you had set your cell phone to ring, and it went off in vain? And as you got up, to stub your little toe on the edge of the bed, with a pain that pierces your soul; to hit your head on the refrigerator door, then just as painfully but still sleepily go to the bathroom and brush your teeth with a shoe brush? And then to make a coffee to get your sweat on, but you added salt instead of sugar? And then to get ready in a hurry, putting on your panties over your pants and your tank top over your shirt, and as you're getting ready to go out, to remember that you don't have anything to do today and the whole morning fuss was a false alarm?

If so, don't worry, you're not alone. It happens to me every day, but thankfully we have a pharmacy nearby, where my wife gets a good supply of iodine and band-aids every three days, and the pharmacist sees us through the eyes, because I make half of the monthly turnover.

What did I mean? Oh, yes. These kinds of mornings used to happen to me when I was little, when I was poor. But back then, because of poverty, I would smear the scratches on my limbs and the bumps on my forehead with homemade brandy, and I would get scolded by my parents because they thought I was drinking it. Even in class, I would bump into corners of buildings, the bottom of walls, and the railings of courtyards, while my eight-year-old grandmothers would tell me that I would never be good at anything because I didn't read. Not because I didn't want to, but because reading gave me a terrible headache, a dizziness like when a car hits me.

However, the nuns would give me a class, just to get rid of them. That's how I got to high school, where I became part of a musical group even though I didn't know the notes, I had a voice good enough to create a little atmosphere at an engagement or circumcision, and I would clash and squeal between the musical instruments. Now, in addition to the brandy, my family accused me of secretly taking their cigarettes, because I, the poor guy, would put a little tobacco on my scratches.

The pressure was unbearable. Then I realized that this stress came from the fact that, for some reason, I had chosen to be poor. So I decided: I chose to be rich. I don't know why I hadn't chosen it sooner. Maybe because for half of my childhood and youth I was like a stunner because I was struggling to read.

The first thing I did: I gathered those notebooks and books, those slandered stories and novels, and set them on fire. When I fap, the first millions came. Then fup, the second millions. Why, you ask?

Because I decided to be open-minded and think differently, despite those who don't understand me saying that in order to be open, you first have to have a mind; and in order to think differently, you first have to at least think.

Long story short, I took control of my life. I left my musical career (oh, how many people have thanked me for this) and started telling dramatic stories on a show called Citrus, which began with "Once upon a time there was an Albanian, an Italian and an American...".

And at that moment the villa outside Tirana came. How, you say? Simply, because I chose to be rich and I didn't choose to be poor. And for that you have to get up early, brother, and burn books. And then you call the elementary school teacher and say: Hey, you witch, you who said I had no money? How much is my pension?

Even today, I am open-minded and ready for new opportunities, I wake up early like when I was a bachelor and my voice sounded like the tin roof of a kiosk when the wind blows. Just like then, I crash into sofas and bed corners and brush my teeth with a painter's brush. And just like that, after I finish the whole ritual of morning incidents, I realize that I have been in vain, that I have nothing to do. But today, I cover my scratches with expensive German adhesive plasters and do not waste the house brandy. And for this, discipline and a strict regime are needed. 

But I can't go on here any longer. Because this article, as you can guess, is not written by me, but by a paid guy who says he studied hard in school, when I was making music. But if you want to know more, come to my seminars, and for 50 thousand euros an hour, I will reveal to you how I chose to become rich and why I didn't decide to stay poor. Hurry, hurry...

Note: The Patronage is a satirical column that wakes up late and doesn't run into sharp corners...        


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