A story: For the last two years of high school, my family sent me to a very expensive school, something almost like what’s called a preparatory school in the US. The poorest people there were upper middle-class. I wasn’t even on the radar. 1/
This is the school where I was treated horribly. Not that there weren’t some nice kids, but I didn’t meet them, and they didn’t notice how horribly I was bullied by some of their classmates, because they were more familiar with that type of people than me. 2/
I was, again, one of the smartest kids in the class, and that was a pride I clung to against the bullying. Until the end of school.

EVERYONE went to foreign universities. Even the ones who would barely pass in school. Their families could afford it. Mine couldn’t. 3/
I struggled to get even a local college admission that year, because my British A-levels results didn’t transition smoothly to Indian colleges, and I watched all the kids who bullied me—much less deserving, much less hardworking students—walk to brighter futures abroad. 4/
That school was where I learned about inequality.

Learned that we had no money for anything, and it mattered.

Learned that it didn’t only suffice to be the smartest student, I had to be *twice* as smart, because other people had things that would make up for smarts. 5/
In the school before that, where everybody came from economically similar families to me, it had sufficed to be the smartest.

Not here. They didn’t particularly care that I was smarter. Their families *employed* smart people. 6/
Now that I’m abroad, a decade later than those people, working my way through, making my way to twice as smart, getting funding, it’s sometimes weird to see those people pass as the same kind of people as me.

They’re not. The Crazy Rich Asians aren’t the regular Asians. 7/
And I kind of cannot reconcile that difference. I think rich people have more in common with other rich people than with people of their ethnicity.

We’re not them. We’re their employees and servants.

They never quite let us forget it, so why should we? 8/
All these days I’ve been reading people from Brett Kavanaugh’s high school come forth with their stories, and I’ve been remembering how there were boys like that in my high school, how the parties and the dynamics were exactly the same. 9/
I’m not sure where I’m going with this besides this deep inchoate resentment for rich people passing as regular people.

Sure, you worked *really* hard. Sure, you’re an *entirely* self-made person, with your business empire at 22. Just with your pocket money. Sure sure sure. /10
Also, this is why I was quite indifferent to the actual movie Crazy Rich Asians, because I really don’t care about rich Asians being just the same kind of assholes as rich white people. Rich people can figure that out among themselves. That equality ain’t trickling down, yo! 11/
Can you imagine what *any* of those characters are like as bosses, including the cute boy protagonist? Because that’s the relationship most of us are going to have with any of those people.

Yeah, no. Not interested. /12
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