I was born into an immigrant family. From the very beginning, I knew exactly what it was like to be oppressed. At school, kids would ask me if I had tacos for lunch, why my pants were sagging, and If I sold weed. I was fine with that. What I wasn't fine with was the rich kids telling me to do things for them. That was my job, labor. More specifically, cleaning houses. And even more specifically, rich kids' houses. While the rich kids were off on some yacht in the Bahamas I was kneeling on my knees shining one porcelain dish until it sparkled like ice on a bright day. As you can probably tell, my life wasn't the best. There was one day I remember more vividly than all the others. It was a blistering Thursday afternoon. I strolled up to one of my regular's large mahogany double doors. My back was already drenched with sweat. My clients let me in and I got to work. But soon the heat became too much to bear. I begged for a cup of water, but my clients denied me, saying they paid for their water and that If I wanted water I had to pay my own bills. They stopped paying me for cleaning their houses. I stopped strolling up to those double doors. I do pay my bills. After that day, I recognized my place in society. I was the laborer, the one who hunched over so the rich could step on my back to reach even higher in the pyramid. For the next two years, I silently did my job. Clean house, drive to next house, rinse and repeat. Until September 19th, 1989. I remember the date perfectly because it was the biggest day of my life. That day, my clients left their wallets on the kitchen table. Sure I could have left alone like I usually do. But today I was feeling done. I was just slapped by another client for standing on a chair to clean the roof. I took the wallets and left. I felt giddy the whole way back. Like a kid on the last ‘Posada'. Once I returned to my dilapidated one-bedroom flat, I slowly opened the wallets. Cash, tons of it. Each wallet had at least one thousand dollars in cash. And even better, the credit cards. At least one hundred thousand dollars on each. I was rich. Immediately, I invested half of it. I had eavesdropped on enough conversations at my client's homes that I was already an avid stock broker. As the weeks rolled by, my money snowballed. From one hundred thousand to one million. From one million to ten million. Soon I was richer than I could ever have imagined. I knew the dangers of being rich. I promised myself I would never forget my origins. I would live a simple life. Yet the riches taunted me, and the luxuries haunted me. Enough was not enough. I bought mansions, sports cars, heck I even bought tigers. But what lured me the most were the diamonds. I bought handfuls and handfuls of diamonds. Yellow diamonds, pink diamonds, blood diamonds, trillion cut diamonds, you name it I had it. There were diamonds in every corner of my house. My baby's crib was studded with diamonds. Our TV was studded with diamonds. The couch was studded with diamonds. My life was at its peak. Until it, all fell down. The stock market crashed. I lost ninety-nine percent of all my wealth. I had to support my entire family with just one hundred thousand. I was lost, I was spiraling into a chasm of despair, depression, and despondency. There was nothing I could do. That same day, the doorbell sounded. Slowly, I trudged to my large mahogany double doors. The doors creaked slightly as I opened them. There stood a young brown boy, just like I was. He asked if he could come to clean my house so I let him. He silently went to clean upstairs first. I sat down and wallowed in my self-pity. This world wasn't fair. I had worked so hard to rise to the top of the pyramid and this is how it treats me. Anger bubbled in me. It boiled, and soon it was a raging inferno. I was ready to topple the government if I had to. "Could I have some water?" a quiet, insecure voice asked. I whipped around, my eyes bulging with hatred. I knew I shouldn't have taken out my hatred on him, but at that time, I felt I had no choice. "GET OUT OF HERE," I roared, "I PAY MY OWN BILLS SO WHY DONT YOU!?!" Tears rolling down his cheeks, he ran out of my large mahogany double doors. As soon as his sweaty back disappeared from view, I crumpled to the floor for I just realized what I had done. I had become the very thing I despised. The days flew by, then the weeks, and soon months rolled by without that kid ever showing up again. The diamonds weren't very shiny anymore. They didn't attract me with their glow anymore. Instead, my eyes always found dust: collecting on my baby's crib, covering the tv screen, concealing the couch.