Your most money-expensive commodity:

Peace of mind.

You are an immigrant from planet Paprika 
where everything is quite peaceful and boring.


The way money is used 
makes absolutely no sense to you.
Almost same with material goods 
but that's another relevant story.
Being involved in more & more recently, you keep facing the following pattern.
- People always try to pay as little money as they can get away with, even if it's illegal or immoral (usually both, but just a little). 
- People keep friendly, communicable and respectful as long as you feed them with money or do not ask for money. 
- People turn to annoyed enemies when they are to 'lose' money because of you. 
- People become friendly again when you overpay or accept being underpaid, conforming to their scenarios.

...and when it's about someone else they friendly advise you. "That's how it works, you must be tough and fight for your rights. (Rights defined by your own financial-profit based common sense)."

You cannot afford that any more because your money feed & shelter you. If you keep satisfying them you'll starve.

You have to sell some peace of mind for your money until you'd afford it back. Or, better (?), stop caring about being pestered by masked humans whose 'just a little' immorality literally robs you.

Sad stories. They seem to have forgotten what life is about, but, again; they are the ones who compose their lives, and big part of yours. Now you don't just feel sad, you feel pain. "What life is about. Win, lose, discounts and scams". It's not subjective. It is not personal. Some aspects, activities and relationships are life, some other are parasitic; mutants of useful procedures maybe but still. 

You read all those books of 'how to become a billionaire, influence people, be successful (rich), manage them all, reach the top, confront your financial enemies etc etc.'

You check the violence and the underworld in both developed and 3rd-world countries.

You feel sandwiched by the stranded upper-worldies and the stranded under-worldies. Rich, debited, frustrated, depressive or happy may they be, you consider them poor; they consider you poor and life goes on.

They fear and praise and hate these guys who, just like me and them, could take some help (not from you, me or that documentary, from her nephew). Who's gonna help the ones who kill your happiness? 

You wonder if having grown up on Earth you'd be accustomed to the above. Feeling pain only by injuries and break-ups.