Resentment

I have been searching for the right word to describe something and finally have decided that the word is "RESENTMENT." A few other words I thought of but don't properly describe what I am thinking of include "discouraged," "annoyed," "disheartened," "irritation." But after mulling it over I have decided that "resentment" fits what I am about to describe. There is something just below the surface, something subtle, something I don't think many people would notice or care to notice about the Nepalese people. (Note: I am generallizing a little when saying all the Nepalese people.) It is like the blue veins you can sometimes see on your wrist. They are there and pulsing but you hardly notice. Resentment. During exchanges with locals you can sometimes pick up a hint of resentment, but I think they try very hard to keep this feeling to themselves. Here is what many (especially people in the cities) see everyday: foreigners from all over the world coming to their country for vacation, travel, to expand their minds while many scrounge in heaps of garbage for their next meal. We come clothed in the best new hiking gear, backpacks full of valuable things, shiny jewelry and sunglasses. They triple their prices for us but we bargain them down, even though we both know we have enough money to pay the price three times over. We trapse around town going on expensive treks, renting bikes, buying clothes, getting massages, eating at any restaurant we chose. The most lavish meal for us is only three dollars. We have fun, laught, are generally carefree. We think we are learning so much about their county. We have enough money to buy anything we want. Our shoes cost more than they will see in 6 months, our backpacks cost more than they will see in a year. We now know and understand the plight of the third world, we tell ourselves. We have dreadlocks and beads in our hair and wear no shoes while they forage money to buy a pair of plastic sandals that are meant to last the whole year. We plug our noses in disgust at the rivers while they wash in them. We avert our eyes from the mountains of garbage, they pick through it for their next meal. We only drink botrtled water of course, our stomachs can't handle their water. They drink from the taps by the side of the road that spout water mixed with sewage. We are hungry: we buy a snack. They are hungry: they wait in silence. We buy incense, buddah trinkets, artwork, hats, socks. They buy dirt crusted vegetables by the side of the road. We sip the finest "Everest" beer while the street children huff glue outside on the street. How could anyone not feel a twinge of resentment seeing this in front of their eyes? We come to their country, and yet they live in their country and will never have what we have. How could they not feel resentful? Wouldn't you?