The following are approximately the first 1000 words from the Introduction to Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

Relationships are the most distracting of all human endeavours

Undoubtedly, we can study love from many angles, including the psychological, theological, and philosophical. In addition, we can explore the various types of love, such as: the love that is shared between friends; the love that is freely given by parents towards their offspring; the love that is expressed by children towards one or both of their parents; the erotic love that is expressed affectionately towards random strangers with whom we crave to ignite a relationship; and the love of objects, pets, and external distractions from which some people derive solace or pleasure.

Obviously, love is broad and complex, let alone mysterious; especially when we add the self-sacrificing love that is given to fellow-humans in need of assistance.

This book will explore the core of the love that drives people in a positive, unselfish way towards engaging in life and its rewards. It will also address the hurdles and the traps. These are inevitable when the tide washes us onto the shore of the love that elates erotically, emotionally, and romantically.

Authors are frequently questioned about their motive and inspiration. Readers would ask ‘why’ I wrote this book. They would want to know how I came to address the topics of love and relationships. How does someone like me, with a technical and management background, venture into the elusive and intangible?

After the polite questions subside, probing ones will emerge, such as, what gives me the right or the authority or the knowledge to write about such a subject. And then there are those who, disagreeing with the messages, seek to discredit me by saying that I have no formal qualifications in this subject. My response will be demure and calm. I will simply smile and say that I wrote what was in my heart, and I drew on years of experience; not all mine. When you enter the public arena, you’d be surprised by how many people will confide in you. With each year that passes, I meet more people who, uninvited, pour out their hopes, dreams, desires, and pains. I never ask. They just tell, and seek, and query, and cry. And from these, I hear the pleas. People are hurting, and they are yearning for direction. They are hungry for solutions. They are restless for solace. They are burning for love. You see, in all my corporate consulting and coaching and mentoring and advising, it seems that, after the nitty-gritty of business settles down, most of my projects have their roots in ‘human relations’. Whether it is marketing or management or leadership or branding or terrorism or national security or sales or technology, it somehow stems from a desire to improve one’s lot. The root-cause for the agony seems to come from interpersonal relationships. At the core of all relationships is love. I did not set out to write about love. I was driven to it!

Life is indeed strange. Years ago, long before I decided to write How to Lose Friends and Infuriate People, conference delegates would flock to the stage to ask me for a copy of my book. Which book? ‘The one in which you cover the topics you touched on, in today’s presentation.’

I had no idea why they presumed that I had written a book. I was merely delivering a presentation. I made no reference to a publication. Truth be known, I still receive this type of enquiry. If I were to address an audience about, hypothetically speaking, the merits of eating carrots, someone is bound to ask where they can purchase the ‘carrot’ book. These days, this is especially problematic because most of my lectures are given a name within the ‘Lose Friends’ series, such as, How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Competitors. Although this subject is not yet a book, I receive endless requests for ‘the book’ — not encouragement to write one, but requests about where a copy can be purchased. They demand it. They write to the webmaster and insist that the website has a problem because the book is not showing up as an option in the shopping list. At one time, a businessman wrote to me and he happened to mention that he recently received a copy of How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Your Staff. This is a title of a lecture, but not yet a book. This aspect of his e-mail disturbed me. I sent it off to my legal department, somehow presuming that some silly smart-alec was trying to muscle in on my series. When no trace of the book was found in the market, we contacted the businessman and asked him more about this publication. He grabbed the book from his shelf and had a look at it, still insisting that he had it in his hand. He later laughed and realised that his staff members had played a practical joke on him. They had purchased one of my books and cleverly replaced the cover with one that they had mocked up and laminated manually as a way to drive a message home to their boss.

It’s funny what people presume. For example, it’s not uncommon for an MC at a conference to introduce me as Mister Nader, and then conclude by thanking Doctor Nader. Hmmm… it baffles me too!

I share this with you to give you part of the reason for this book. People have been asking for it. For example, after delivering an impassioned presentation to the directors, managers, and staff of an international bank, about brand-building and market-supremacy, a lady approached me at the end of the night and asked me if she could obtain some of my writings about love. Now I ask you: how did she get such a daft idea? The word ‘love’ never left my lips. I had not alluded to my interest in the subject, and I did not discuss this with the audience. You see, there is something spiritual or even spooky about the way that the universe draws us into certain cyclones. Throughout my travels, people bestow upon me an uninvited guru-status. They want to hear my opinion about ‘things’ and ‘stuff’. They share their stories about ‘life and living’ and about ‘love and loving’ and indeed about what torments them. Young people, especially, will ask me inscrutable questions that their parents would ask of them. They sound me out and put me under the spotlight to see how I would respond to a barrage of objections, which I know originated from their parents. The students want to see how someone should respond to their demanding or sometimes unreasonable parents. I get it all, especially via e-mail. These days, I receive mail from Azerbaijan and Zimbabwe, and from countries in between. Indeed, some of my books are now translated into Russian, Czech, Polish, Hungarian, Portuguese, and Serbian.

I am aware of many people around me who struggle with love. Their pain and mine spurs me to think about love and its challenges. For example, I know a young man who, at the age of eighteen, fell madly in love with a beautiful girl. As a friend of mine, I knew him to be level-headed and a thorough gentleman. Not many of them around at that age. He was calm, devoted, and one-hundred-percent committed to his girlfriend… until she began to date another guy during the fourth year of a relationship that hitherto was devoid of arguments or quarrels. This ‘betrayal’, as he would call it, affected him deeply. He went far away, overseas, to work, to learn, to forget. We kept in touch, but I did not raise the matter until five years later. I felt that enough time had passed, and new pleasant memories would now be occupying his mind. In response, at the age of twenty-six, he wrote, ‘There is a saying that goes, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Physically, this might be true. Emotionally, I can’t agree with it. That experience tore me in two. It was, without question, the most difficult time in my life. I’m strong mentally. It takes a lot to sway me, but that incident sure did knock me about. Now, where has it left me? I’m more guarded, less emotionally-open, and, you could say, still very much emotionally scarred. I have met other girls, but none with whom I have shared the same type of connection as I had with [my previous girlfriend]. Nowhere close. So I keep on searching. She wasn’t right for me. That I know. And I don’t live with regrets, even though I could have won her back. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do, and I still believe it. But certainly, when I stand in front of the mirror and shave every morning, there are few days when she doesn’t come into my head. The difference now is that years have passed and they have numbed the senses. Indeed she has tried to be a friend of mine on Facebook etc, but I have declined. I can never be her friend. To answer your question about whether or not the merry-go-round is still spinning… the answer is yes. I’ll never recover from that and be the same again, but I’m able to function, and I know that that ship has sailed. On a different note altogether…’

And like a real trooper, he moved on and changed the subject. That’s a sign of maturity. He reminded me of a counselling session I had with a university counsellor whose approval I needed before I could be granted an extension for an assignment. My lecturer could not allow me to submit a late paper without the permission of the college psychologist. I was going through a very rough patch, and almost everything was going wrong for me. I just did not have the time to attend to the many urgent catastrophes in my life. The counsellor said to me, ‘I see hundreds of students each year, and they all have a story, and most of them try to pull the wool over my eyes, yet I can see that your case is genuine. I’m sorry about your difficulties. By all means, take your time. How long do you need?’ On the way out, I turned to the counsellor and asked how she knew that I was not spinning a lie, and she replied, ‘Most people who come in here, try to influence me. So they tend to ham-up the sob-story. They cry, they blub, they look disheartened and despondent… yet you smiled, you quipped, you laughed, and I could tell that this was due to some embarrassment, and some protection mechanism that honest people tend to exhibit when they are in deep trouble.’

My jilted friend holds his head high. His heart is completely shattered, but he stands hopeful. He can talk about it with me, but he recently admitted that he does find it almost impossible to speak about this with most people. Now twenty-seven years of age, he says, ‘It’s interesting that other girls have asked about that relationship. As you can imagine, people tend to probe into each other’s past. But it’s something I can’t easily talk about. Ninety percent of the time, I refuse outright. On the odd occasion that I do open up, I share few details. That process of trying to protect my emotions tends to make girls even more curious, and some might think I have something to hide, and so it creates more tension when girls latch on, trying to solve the mystery which is nothing more than a difficult and terrible journey. I had to ban my Mum from asking about her in any form, including mentioning bumping into [my previous girlfriend’s] mother at the shopping centre, as would happen every four to five months. You see, it all hurts so much.’

Indeed it hurts. For some of us, it hurts longer and the pain becomes stronger as we seek and search and look and delve and dream and fantasise and, with great intensity, wish for a happy ending. Love baffles. Love torments. Whether we are young or old, love takes up much of our attention. It’s weird that we profit little by thinking about it so much. If we were to spend as much time thinking about our studies or our work, we would probably excel in our chosen field. Yet when it comes to love, no matter how much we think about it, there seems to be little reward. Perhaps it’s due to the futility of the thinking processes. Often, our thoughts are reactive. They are not really thoughts at all. They are cerebral verbalisations of feelings. Ah, that must be it. When we think about love, we are merely reacting to the feelings about love, and in so doing, we are just responding to the pain. We do not really think. Instead, we discuss the matter in our lonely head, and we try to strategise, to plot, or to work out how we can overcome the challenges. Such discussions degrade into arguments. How can we win an argument with ourself? It’s a never-ending tit-for-tat. Dare we ever condemn ourself? Which part of my head shall have the last word? Which shall have the last laugh? Years ago I was thinking about the old adage that those who laugh last, laugh the best. It occurred to me that those who cry last, cry the most. For fear of admitting defeat, we keep the battle raging in our head, and we pretend to think about the solution. Recurring battles in our head rarely produce satisfactory results.

I know that people are hurting. Most are beautiful. Many are lost. Some have lost the plot. Others have lost something much more precious… hope. Almost all of them cry for affection and direction and acceptance and clarity and joy and simplicity and laughter. And they think that all this will come when they can snuggle in the arms of not only someone whom they love, but someone whom they love and who happens to love them back in equal measure, simultaneously. If only. Oh, if only those whom we loved, could love us in return. All the world’s troubles would lift and drift. All of these things are compounded by the difficulties and challenges that stem from our career, our work, our finances, our fears, our pressures, our loneliness, our insecurities, our age, and the ticking clock. Worst of all, they are complicated by the loss of hope. Losing hope is the final death knell. If there’s one thing that I want this book to do, it is to re-ignite hope. Without hope, nothing happens. Or should I say, without hope, everything happens, but it happens without purpose, without guidance, without joy, without reward. Hope is the key. Love is the ignition.

I have been assured that love conquers all. Perhaps so. Meanwhile, I would like to know what conquers love. It is for these reasons that I felt that we needed some structure and analysis. And this is where this book comes in.

PS: In all my books, out of respect to readers, I avoid the use of ‘he’ and ‘she’ as descriptors, unless I am referring to a specific person. For this reason, I speak about people in neutral terms so that all readers can associate with the stories.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 1 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

The merry-go-round

Why is it so difficult?

There is a problem in writing any book about love. The all-encompassing and all-consuming topic is an emotive one that cannot be expressed with mere words. You see, words are serial, in that they must come one after the other. Words are slow and cumbersome. They cannot truly express thoughts, and they are poor tools for conveying feelings.

Character by character, word by word, sentence by sentence, a book is supposed to help us to learn. Alas, on the subject of love, this seems impossible, because complex heart-wrenching mind-twisting feelings come in lumps — in huge cold gooey blobs that splatter. Orderly words cannot keep up. How can you write a real-time descriptive running commentary about a three-dimensional explosion? How can you run every which way, chasing each wayward fragment?

Feelings barge through. Uninvited, they push and they shove, and they demand immediate attention. Painful or joyous thoughts force themselves into our heart. No common courtesies. No ‘excuse-me’. No ‘would-you-mind?’ It’s just wallop! Take that. Listen up. Deal with this. Nag nag nag. It’s all three-dimensional, quadraphonic, heavy, confusing, and sticky. Incessant, never-ending agony. On the way in and on the way out of love, it’s agony.

When the loop slows down, guess what? It then accelerates all over again, automatically. Again and again. Then, just when you think that you have arrested the rhythm, it starts to fragment and surprise you randomly, differently, sneakily, in bits and pieces like a psychedelic tease show, set to music and a quickening beat that thumps and grinds, and all the while, you think, why me? How hard can it be? Why is it so difficult? It’s just love. All I wanted was to make someone happy. All I yearned for was for a wholesome relationship. That’s all. Nothing complex. To hug, to kiss, to cuddle, to love. To give. Not to take. So why is it so difficult?

Then, when it pleases the angels — those sneaky cheeky mischievous clowns — we find our true love. It’s all perfect, until it falls apart and then, wallop! Take that. Listen up. Deal with this. Nag nag nag. It’s all three-dimensional, holographic, painful, demanding, and prickly. Intense, ever-changing insults. Why oh why?

No book can keep pace with the action. Sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, chapter by chapter… it’s all too slow. So why write about love and relationships? Because there is no other way. We mortals are not so good at doing the very thing that we desire most — to communicate our feelings to each other. Of course we communicate with art. And we say it with flowers and gifts and stares and whispers and smiles and touches, and through the most ubiquitous cry of all — the love song: that three-minute ding-dong that mixes poetry and anger and quandary and mystery with questions and queries and pleading and begging.

Words cannot describe — they can only trigger. So perhaps, while reading this book, these dead words will ignite thoughts and ideas that you can translate into solutions and shields. And only after you have finished reading, can you stack each sentence and compress each word inside a slingshot. Then, in one swift motion, you shoot the nugget toward the barrage of tormenting ferrets — those enemies that pull at your heart-strings and slow you down. Here’s the funny thing: our heart races, yet our soul grinds to an indolent limp. Our mind thrashes, while our spirit cops a battering. It’s a fast-paced slow motion. Hideous.

We intellectual animals, who roam the jungle fully clothed, find ourselves naked. So we buy more apparel and hoard more worldly goods. Maybe when we have more, we can feather our nest and deck-out our pad. Luxuries ease the pain. Indeed they do, for three seconds at a time. But what do we do on the fourth beat? We cry and wonder why. Why me? How hard is it? Surely it’s not me? God knows I’ve tried. I’ve changed. I’ve compromised. I’ve given. I’ve listened. What more can I do? It must be me. No damn it! Someone around here is a heartless snake, and I sure know it isn’t me. Give me back my life!

So, we philosophise. We muse. We investigate. We delve. We take a different tack. We slow down. We regain our composure. We smile more. We speak less. We ask, but we do not probe. We listen, but we do not judge. We mature. We give it another go. But there’s still something wrong. So we compartmentalise it into ‘them and us’. Men and women. Young and old. Rich and poor. Givers and takers. Experienced and green. We search for reasons. They must have lied. They must have been distracted. The devil got in the way. They suffered some imbalance. It must have been hormones. Why else were they unfaithful?

Again we try. We change. We compromise. We give. We listen. What more can we do? Could it be me? Then again, it might be you. All I know is that someone around here is a heartless snake, and I sure know it ain’t me. Give me back my life!

Like kids in a playground, we pack our toys and scatter. With each scuffle, the stakes grow higher. The pain is more intense, and the illusion of love becomes less realistic. Those of us who had ventured alone, turn to God; while those of us who had invited God on this journey, as a witness to our fair play, complain and turn away. Either way, we revisit the teachings of the sages.

Once again, we philosophise. Having given up on trying to read people, we inquire into human nature. What are we? Why do we yearn so much for that illusive intangible feeling of love? Then there is the biggest question of all: is it really better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all? Are you kidding? I’m not so sure. If you have loved intensely, and have yearned most earnestly, and have surrendered completely, then how can it be anything more than a slap in the face? It’s the biggest wallop of them all. Take that. Nag nag nag. It’s all three-dimensional, quadraphonic, holographic, realistic, heavy, confounding, and debilitating. Incessant, never-ending torture.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 2 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

Something I’ve been meaning to tell you

Persona non grata

I can’t smile after sunset. For ages I didn’t understand why. I dread the night sky and the evening dusk. Yet, I’m not afraid of the dark. While most of my friends look forward to the end of the day, I am saddened by the isolation. Oh, I don’t feel lonelier at night. No, not lonelier. Goodness me, the feeling of loneliness does not come in degrees — not for me. I’m always lonely; so lonely, that the night cannot be any lonelier than the day.

There’s a point in the late afternoon when everything around me turns to grey. The dullness punishes me. The near and the far merge as one, and then the lights come on. Oh, that light-switch drives me mad. That flick. That click. That artificial luminescence. It drains me. It reminds me that the day is through, and that, yet again, I’ve failed to attract you.

The streets turn a new colour for the revellers. But I don’t fit in. People can detect that I am one of the uninvited on-lookers. Losers don’t belong to the vibrant night.

Restaurants don’t have tables for one. The waiter comes and whisks the spare cutlery away. The napkins and the glasses go too. The ritual is not only an embarrassment, but also a poke in the eye — a reminder that sad, lonely people do not belong where carefree, happy people dine.

Loners can slip into bars; but who’s kidding who? Bars don’t know the meaning of hospitality. The happy ones are too distracted to notice you; and so who do you think is going to spot you? Another poor sod who goes solo like you? Or someone from out of town, who ventured to the bar for some unwholesome reason? Bars are unfriendly. They play music loudly on purpose — they don’t want people to chat too much. No-one has anything decent to say. It’s best that we don’t open-up, for fear of dragging down the tone. Let’s just smile. And here’s to your health.

The dull night is the closing bell that signals to me that I’ve had a failed day. Sure, I’ve met people, spent money, signed contracts, and attended meetings. I was the epitome of excellence and the shining example of professionalism, but so what? I failed to win the heart of the person whose face flashes in front of me approximately ten times per second. Actually, it’s more than ten times per second. A second is a long long time when you are in pain. And within its spaces, there are long long moments — much longer than ten beats. And endlessly, unceasingly, within its rhythm, I see a face in my head — that big head of mine that makes me smart and intelligent and knowledgeable and quick, but it is altogether a useless head because it cannot figure out a way to win the heart of the one whose face taunts me; whose lips drown me; whose hands strangle me; whose body crushes me; and somehow, the world deems me to be clever and resourceful. My colleagues think that I am enterprising and productive. I’ve been called efficient and creative, but if only they knew… I’m hopeless, and I’m reminded of my shortcomings every single day at sunset.

I have people to see and I have things to do. I never sit still. I jam-pack the night with important functions and social events, but as I fix my hair and adjust my clothes in the mirror, I don’t look at myself in the eyes — for I know that I would melt away the mask and see the impostor within — the sad lonely failure who just can’t understand why others seem to manage to attract the love of their life. How do they do it? Maybe I’m doing it all wrong. Maybe they are open-minded, and they just let it happen, and they make the most of whatever happens. Whereas I go with only one goal in mind, and only one target in sight. In a world filled with crying souls, and plenty of fish in the sea, I go on a near impossible (and mathematically improbable) mission — to win only one heart. What are the chances of that? But hey, I don’t go of my own volition. Don’t make out that it’s all my fault. It’s not my fault at all. I was lured by a drop-dead gorgeous yummy individual who flaunted blinding beauty, and captivated me, trapped me, and now I’ve been stung. I’m hooked. Is it my fault? Did I decide to become besotted by another person’s beauty? No. I had no choice in the matter.

Now here’s a ghastly thing — maybe nature has goofed. Why does an attractive person attract people indiscriminately? Maybe the Designer ought to have been more discerning and ought to have exercised better control of the magnet. And why turn on the alluring charm when no
invitation is being extended?

And so, the insult of the evening tells me that it’s over for another day; and I’ve failed again. The weight of that abysmal failure reminds me that I had failed yesterday. And I know, we all know, that last week was just as bad. The cumulative effect of my sad and sorry history stands as proof of the likelihood of my future failure.

I’m not sure if I ought to pat myself on the back for showing such tenacity. Would it be wise for me to keep on trying? You see, what am I trying to do? It’s not in my hands. It’s not like trying to learn a new skill. It’s not like studying for an exam. It feels like I have no control over the outcome. What can I do to make someone love me, or want me, or notice me? Perhaps the more I try, the more I make the other person uncomfortable. The less I try, the more certain that nothing will ever happen. How can I make it happen?

Why, dear heaven, can you put two humans on planet Earth and spark emotional fires in one heart, yet not in the other? It took no effort at all for me to know, without any hesitation, that I am enamoured by the beautiful sweet soul whose lack of warmth for me was evident. A dry dark cold desert separates us.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 3 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

I don’t love you

Keep your feelings to yourself

I’m sorry to bring canines into it, but do you know why dogs do their wee-wees on trees and posts? They’re marking out their territory. They are posting a message on a public billboard, and it reads, ‘Hey all you dudes in the district: this area is mine. Do you have a problem with that?’

Do we vertical animals do that? Yep. We are forever marking out our territory. We proclaim that a block of land is ours. The deed to our home keeps the dudes away. The copyright and the trademark do the same thing.

The ring on that finger makes me wonder, though. What is it saying and who is saying it? The message is loud, but unclear. Does the ring say, ‘I am taken, rotten luck, so sorry about that. Maybe in another life.’ Or does the ring speak for a different voice that shouts, ‘Hey dudes, stay away, this one is mine, and don’t come close! I’ve reserved all rights.’

I’ll leave you to battle through that one, because that’s only the scene-setter for me to launch the key question: what do you mean when you say, ‘I love you’? When should you say it? Who should say it first? By the way, should you play hard to get? How hard? What if you push your luck and push your potential soul-mate away?

I’ve always maintained that anyone who feels compelled to say ‘I love you’ is on thin ice. Why the urge? Is it to express a feeling from a heart to a head? Why is that feeling not getting through without words? Perhaps you say it to make the other person happy, because the more they hear it, the better they feel. Oh dear, that’s a different kind of problem, and we’ll skip it for now. Perhaps you say ‘I love you’ in order to mark your territory by saying, ‘Hey, I hereby submit my expression of interest, so consider this a deposit; like a down-payment. Don’t go making yourself available to anyone else, because I am definitely interested.’

Do you see the problems here? Having to say that you are an honest person, raises all sorts of doubt. Having to convince someone that you are ethical and loyal and in love, smacks of a Shakespearean tragedy, and methinks one doth promote too much.

Would your lovee admonish you if you don’t succumb to this ritual? Words are cheap. Anyone can say anything. Are we astute enough to sense another’s love without requiring verbal assurances?

I love you… I said, I love you!

Great, thanks.

Well, is there anything you want to tell me?

Pressure pressure. Go on, force it out. Push them into an awkward corner. Go ahead, make a scene. Don’t you realise that most people would prefer to avoid conflict? So if you push the point, you’ll get your admission. And there is nothing sweet about the stock-standard invited prompted pregnant pause that extracts and demands the obligatory response, ‘And I love you too’.

So, now are you happy? A little? Not fully? You have another question? What’s that? Now you want to know how much they love you?

A lot.

Well, how much is a lot?

Oh dear. Pick away at it. Keep prodding until something happens, and then you can take all this evidence to the judge. ‘They said they loved me, with their own mouth. And now they have betrayed me.’

Try this little diabolical experiment. Next time you feel the urge to tell someone that you love them… don’t! Just express it in other ways. Do it in deed, or in kind, or in love, or be generous and considerate and… oh gosh, I was about to say romantic, but that’s a whole new topic. I don’t like the word ‘romantic’. It smothers the truth. It’s another silly word that frames most descriptions about what people are looking for in a relationship. But do you know what they really mean when they say that they want someone who is romantic?

On Internet dating sites, unless you are young and drop-dead gorgeous, you would fall into the ‘average’ band. So read what every other average person is looking for. Apart from insignificant differences in hobbies and the odd ‘I hate seafood’ and the peculiar ‘I am a fruitarian’ and all the other pigeon-hole categories, it boils down to basic needs. You, like everyone else, it seems, would admit to being easy-going, down-to-earth (whatever that means) and someone who enjoys this and that, and sometimes this and never that. But in the end, you are looking for someone to love, on the proviso that they love you back, because you will not tolerate any jerks. And don’t forget to say that you do not want anyone with baggage. That would really set you apart… not! And what’s all this aversion to those who play mind-games? It strikes me that more is revealed about people by what they say they do not want, than by what they admit about themselves. With almost everyone dreading a relationship with time-wasters and manipulators, I’m yet to see any entries wherein the candidates describe themselves as baggage-laden time-wasting mind trippers. Where are all these characters that everyone fears? (It bemuses me when I read the descriptions on cans and packets of food at supermarkets, because it seems that every single one of them uses nothing less than the finest ingredients. Go to your cupboard and read something. It leads me to wonder why they stress this point, given that none admits otherwise, and if that were all true, it makes me wonder where the less-than-finest ingredients go, and who uses them, and when they do use them, how do they advertise them?) Have you ever met self-aware nincompoops? If these nincompoops are not honest enough to plug accurate data into their on-line dating profile, are they likely to recognise their shortcomings and stay away from singles who beg for funny spunky intelligent companions who enjoy the odd good conversation — or was it the good odd conversation? And then there are those who do not know what they are looking for. Now there’s a dilemma.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 4 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

The secret garden

Where children play

In trying to raise well-adjusted children, we offer them good education. Along the way, they are taught about the life-cycle and reproduction, and are afforded some form of sex education. I wonder if anyone understands how to prepare children for the most beautiful moment of their adolescence — their first love.

The most uplifting and most amazing feeling that I can remember is that first explosion of adoration. I was six years old. It was a most innocent and pure affection. Too bad no-one was with me to share that magical moment when a seed sprouted, totally unexpectedly. In my case, it was unrequited love, and I have a feeling that, by its nature and innocence, it would be thus for most young people. I knew that the other person could not have felt the same way about me. In fact, I did not expect them to. That’s what made that first love so wholesome. It was totally non-sexual. It was completely devoid of expectations. I wanted naught in return.

Do you recall your first moment when you realised that you were feeling something totally new and beautiful and wholeheartedly absorbing? Let your mind journey back. You can learn a lot from that early experience. You might recall that it was calming yet energising. It was soothing yet exhilarating. For me, I recall my body coming alive. All I wanted was to shut the world out so that I could bathe in exaltation. It was a special time when I knew that another person meant a lot to me. I did not even strike a friendship. It was all from a distance, and it was completely satisfying. The love was in my heart. I had been given something precious. I was too young to complicate the matter. I was too pure to want anything in return. I did not know that there would be a ‘next step’. I had no idea that it could be enhanced with physical contact. It was unsullied. It was virginal.

Sink deeply into an armchair, turn down the noise, and escape into the recesses of your memory, and re-play those moments when love first entered your heart. You might recall the mellow excitement when you first realised that you see in colour, and that lungs fill with oxygen, and people can be beautiful, and the sun blankets us with an amber hue, and trees speak, and the wind whispers, and the human body is a work of art, and lips are red, and hair is soft, and hands are sensual, and skin is naked, and eyes are windows, and the world’s troubles can ebb… until you hear the echoes of some adult bellowing obscenities at someone or something, or worse still, at you, and it snaps you out of your vivid innocence and reminds you that, as a child, you did not fancy the idea of growing up.

I do not know about you, but as a child, I found adults to be horrid. Not that they were only horrid to me, personally, but also to each other.

When I was a youngster, sex education was called Physical Development. PD comprised meagre lessons about glands and puberty. It was never good enough, but at least we spoke about it, somehow, with someone. Intimate matters were whispered behind the tree in the school yard. Some worldly kid always had the answers whenever we discussed forbidden subjects. As children, we were resourceful. If there was something we did not know, we managed to find out, in our own time, through careful observations or clandestine operations. The more taboo the subject, the greater the interest. Perhaps it was just plain curiosity. I do not recall anything pleasant about it. It just felt like a mission or a preoccupation. I do not even know why I needed to find out about the workings of the body. I did not appreciate being kept in the dark, so when information evaded me, I wanted to run after it in case there was a special message or some colossal revelation that I was missing out on.

I can still visualise the first time when someone told me about what mummies and daddies do to make babies. I remember the kid who told me, and the spot on the lawn where we sat studying the magazine that he furnished as proof of how they did it. I still recall the conversation we had. I now wonder what he must have thought when I refuted his explanation about intercourse (or ‘commerce’, as it was known in those days). ‘You are wrong. It can’t be done like that,’ I exclaimed with steely determination.

It would help if you understood the background as to why I had deduced that his information was incorrect. At a very young age I understood the concept of love, and I felt it trembling in my heart, but I had not met two people whom I would say were in love. Even as a child, I was observant and alert, like I am now. Back then, I was purposefully on the lookout for people who loved each other. To my continued disturbance, I did not find them. I had attended a number of weddings, and I had met many couples, but I was never convinced that they loved each other.

You might wonder how a child so young would know enough to be able to make such assessments about adults. Granted, I was not to know how people lived their life, but I drew conclusions based on what I thought love was meant to be, and I compared it with the corresponding behaviour that I witnessed. As a young boy, I was like a fly on the wall. I was quiet, well dressed, and well mannered. Hence, I was unassuming and unthreatening. In a room of adults, no-one paid much attention to me. So in effect, I was the perfect spy. I was able to walk from the lounge room to the kitchen to the balcony to the dining room to the bedrooms, and no-one felt threatened by such a harmless young boy. As a result, adults neither tempered their hilarity nor lowered their voice. I heard it all, and to this day, I recall every conversation and every gesture, and none of it was pleasant. The many people around-whom I hovered, gave adulthood a bad name.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 5 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

What you heard is not what I meant

If love were a country, what language would they speak there?

For some strange reason, I am often asked about my hobbies. People want to know what I do when I am not working. I tell them about my physical activities; which are not so unusual.

What I have never told anyone is that I have obscure mental past-times. These are invisible hobbies that take place in the dark-recesses of my mind. I have a great time when I allow my mind to ponder the whys and wherefores of nature, the magnitude of the cosmos, and the quirkiness of the human race. I observe and query how the human animal, as a species, has evolved. In so doing, I rarely arrive at conclusions. Instead, I sink deeper in doubt about our chances of survival.

One of the most fascinating of all human faculties is that of language. Not just the fact that we communicate through vibrating our vocal chords, but that we have invented so many languages. Thousands of languages have become extinct, and still, we have thousands of languages that hold this world together (or keep it apart). As I think about this bizarre situation, I can’t get past the roadblocks in my head. Such as, how did humans, as animals, first start to make utterances as a form of expression?

If we gathered one thousand babies at birth, and isolated them in a commune, would they form their own language? How many generations would it take before they create their own alphabet? How long would it be before they start singing? And when, on the evolution dial, would the first citizen expel that inexplicable, universal, and perhaps the only real human expression that transcends all language — the scream?

At which point will the citizens of the new isolated generation invent a word for greed? And when will they all appreciate the universality of love and hate? Or, would they harbour dozens of feelings in private, not daring (and perhaps unable) to express themselves, for fear of ridicule? Would they presume that everyone must labour under the same set of feelings, or do they soon learn that what they like and dislike does not resemble what others deem to be normal? Would it be at this point that the thought of lying crosses their mind for the first time? Even so, who’s to say that our experimental isolated generation would cast judgement about lying? Maybe it would not be taboo to lie? Maybe no such judgements would enter the equation. Perhaps morals and ethics take centuries to develop.

This chain keeps me agog for hours at a time, until someone notices my intense, pensive expression and interrupts me with, ‘What’s the matter? Are you alright?’

What can I say? How can I say it? Invariably, I just tell them that I was ‘thinking’. Indeed, the burrows are many. One of them leads me to wonder about the language of love. Sorry, I don’t mean the language of love. I mean the love language. If so many people speak a different language, and some speak more than one, then could it be said that each of us speaks a different love language?

A crowd of one thousand people can be partitioned by their physical make-up, their wealth, education, points of view, heritage, race, and culture. Naturally, the more columns we add to the database, the messier it all becomes. But at least most categories are easy to query. Demographics, psychographics, geographics, and dispo-graphics (a word I invented to describe one’s disposition) could be documented, because each question can elicit an answer. When it comes to languages, it’s not unusual for someone to say that they speak English, they read Arabic, they understand French, and they write Latin — notwithstanding their basic understanding of the language of music and that of mathematics.

But has it ever occurred to you that the column that has neither rhyme nor reason is the one that tries to capture the love language? You see, generally speaking, people congregate. It is not unusual to find Jews living together, or Chinese people sharing the same suburb, or the rich at the same social functions, or the ravers at the same parties, or Puccini buffs at the same opera house. In small measure or en masse, people come together and then go their separate ways — in and out, in and out, just like the tide. They crisscross daily, or maybe once in a while. People, who might have nothing else in common, gravitate together to watch an event that captures their imagination. For that short time, they are co-witnesses. They are co-spectators. Then they depart. But for that brief period, we can collate the data and say that they have (or had) one thing in common, whether it be football, the Olympics, a celebrity wedding, a bloody war, a natural disaster, or a public protest.

All this, to explain to you that human activity can be categorised and classified.

He is a communist.

She is a Catholic.

They are rich.

We love chocolate.

But, but, but, not so with love. Round them all up: the chocoholics; the Catholics; the communists; the co-spectators; and the co-witnesses, and put them in the same room, then bring in the statisticians. Somehow, at some point, they will slice the room into the good, the bad, and the ugly.

But, but, but, one division that will never work, is the division of the heart. There is no way to group people together by how they love, who they love, what they love, when they love, how deeply they love, how intensely they love, how weirdly they love, how selfishly they love, how amazingly they love… if they love at all. And even then, those who don’t know what you’re talking about cannot be lumped together because some love neither deeply nor intensely, and neither intentionally nor consciously. No two people are the same. No two hearts flutter in synch. No two lustful thoughts are… are… are… I can’t say it, because no single word can completely satisfy what I am trying to say. So here’s the question: if no two people speak the same love language, how do they communicate?

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 6 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

How much is that darling in the window?

Buying love on the cheap

It’s too bad we can’t buy love. Wouldn’t it be fabulous if we could? Here’s an interesting plot for a movie: imagine a rich person who not only hires gardeners and housekeepers, but also professional lovers to create the perfect household. The movie would revolve around an eccentric millionaire who commissions a scriptwriter, a producer, and a director, as well as a brilliant casting manager who finds just the right talent. The actors would enter the house, make conversation, make dinner, make love, and make believe that everything is rosy. What bliss. This would be the ideal agreeable relationship where fantasies and feelings are selected from a menu. I’m beginning to warm to the idea myself. Lights… camera… attraction.

I doubt if such a lifestyle would be any more expensive than the cost of real love. Although we cannot buy love, we do end up paying dearly with physical and emotional assets. So much so, that the astronomical price of love ranks alongside the expense of betrayal and the cost of injustice.

If love is so costly, wouldn’t it stand to reason that we should conduct careful analysis before we commit to a relationship? We engage lawyers, accountants, and a myriad of advisers before we sign a commercial contract, yet we do not draft any clauses for the most expensive purchase of all.

Notwithstanding pre-nuptial agreements, some might well argue that relationships are not commercial arrangements. But they are so costly. Wouldn’t it make sense to apply some due diligence? For example, when employing someone for a new position, we conduct reference checks, and we call previous employers. Why then would we not call our new friend’s previous lovers and ask for some advice? A job application asks for a candidate’s strengths and weaknesses, yet spouses, years later, are shocked to learn that they married an alcoholic, or a gambler, or a former bankrupt, or worse still, a violent selfish inhumane leech who indulges in all of the above! When the truth eventually emerges, the innocent spouse cannot believe that those horrid characteristics existed at the time of marriage. How could anyone hide so many undesirable traits so well, for so long? Perhaps we need new laws that will require lovers to disclose perti-nent details about their lifestyle and their history. The marriage certificate will become a binding contract, assessable under a new Marriage Act that would penalise misleading advertisers.

Even if two people are flawless and honourable, what about the minefields of personal preferences? If we do not clarify these during the early stages, we stand to taste bitter disappointment. This is why some people do not wish to commit to a relationship. They do not know what they would be locking themselves into. And given that they are not good at expressing their desires, they back off. We might never fathom why a person, who seems just right for us, and so perfectly suited to us, and who has proved, time and again, to enjoy our company, suddenly resists our invitation to dock in our heart.

Have you stopped to analyse what some clients are doing when they engage the services of a prostitute? They might be lusting for something more than a sexual act. They are looking for an un-encumbered, un-negotiated interaction where the logic is as basic as any human motive can be — me want, me have, me take. Very simple in urge, albeit complex in execution. Some devout partners break down when they can no longer cope with the domestic obstacles that hinder their lust. Their appetite is strong and insistent; much like the demand for air is strong and insistent to the asphyxiated.

So what’s all this deviation in aid of? It points to something potentially good. It drives home the most beautiful love of all. Yes, I am talking about pure, golden love — the kind of innocent love that we all would be blessed to experience, if only a lover would allow us the opportunity to express our emotions completely, and to enact our desires wholesomely. Can you imagine the joy of being in love with someone, adoring them so much, that we can embrace them, kiss them, pamper them, and melt into them, whenever we felt the urge; whenever we needed a recharge; whenever we wanted to express our feelings? Would you not surrender all your assets for a lover with whom you can perform any act at any time? Expression without negotiation. Affection without encumbers. Devotion without hindrance. Surrender without fine-print. Passion without mood-swings. Worship without taboo. Zeal without stern warnings. And rapture without excuses or lies or resistance or… what did you say? You have a headache? Well, I’ll try again later… maybe… and here’s hoping that you won’t crush my soul next time. I am not sure how many times I can suffer that electric fence. I gave you my heart, but now you want me to retreat and sit on the bench and wait for your invitation. Fine. I shall sit outside and wait, but not only for your invitation. There are many invitations in the sea. If I were to drift towards a throbbing heart, you would no doubt brand me the betrayer.

Can you imagine the magical sparks between two people if they were both genuinely and reciprocally able to express themselves to each other without negotiation, without encumbers, without hindrance, without fine-print, without mood-swings, without taboo, without stern warnings, and without excuses or lies or resistance? It is this innocent fantasy that drives our imagination, and it is this pure imagination that fuels our hopes, and it is this unsullied imagery that colours our dreams. Above all else, it is this undiluted reality that secures our sanity. Such completeness would be an elixir that heals any and all ailments. Oh, how fresh we would be if those whom we loved, did also love us in return. Oh, how liberated we would be if those whom we wanted and needed, did indeed appreciate our yearnings and made us feel that our heart’s desires were music, nay, serenity, for their spirit.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 7 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

Madly in love

From heartache to headache

Madness and craziness are mental disorders that have been loathed and feared for centuries. Understandably, we would not voluntarily befriend anyone who is mad or crazy — not unless they are madly in love with us, or crazy about us. This level of mania might seem sweet and touching, but it can be deceptive.

As you know, ‘mania’ refers to excessive excitement or abounding enthusiasm. Anyone who has an abnormal compulsion (such as a person who exhibits an extreme love for another person) is said to be manic.

Mania connotes vibrancy, yet it is also the name of the ancient Roman goddess of the dead. How can a word refer to both vibrancy and death? Aren’t these concepts opposites of each other? Perhaps one leads to the other. A deep love can drive people insane. The point at which love and madness collide, is the point where a ravenous devotion is born into an insufferable inferno.

We promote passion, yet we warn about obsession. We expect complete surrender, yet we worry about fixation. We want love to be all-embracing, so long as it is not all-consuming. In the end, however careful we might be, it is never ‘real’ unless it hurts, because the real-deal hurts on the way in and on the way out. (For an explanation about who is likely to get hurt, see Chapter 8, ‘Grade distinctions’.)

There is something suspicious about a painless affair. Steady love is too temperate, and it smacks of a calculating relationship that resembles a business contract with unfair escape-clauses and copious fine-print. All contracts are lopsided protection-mechanisms design to punish the wayward. The one who stands to benefit the most, gets to draft the legalese. The person who is coerced to accept the ‘terms and conditions’ is likely to do so under duress or delusion.

Relationships that are based on a raft of conditions are doomed, because the propensity for deviation is threateningly high — otherwise, there would be no need for the stipulations. People who enter into relationships that are encumbered by a contractual framework are not in love, simply because love is unconditional. Furthermore, genuine love, apart from it being free from stipulations and constraints, is also non-negotiable. With this in mind, who would want to be subjected to the wrath of unconditional and boundless love? It’s scary. It’s risky. It’s insane. It’s uneconomical. It’s totalistic. It’s distracting. No-one in their right mind would wilfully surrender to love.

When love strikes, it controls. Notice the violent language of warfare — to strike and control. For this reason, Cupid’s first mission is to separate the heart from the head by dulling the victim’s intellect via a neurological agent that disconnects the cables. In this way, the sedated head can no longer ask the logical and rational questions. By isolating the head, Cupid paves the way for the heart to rule. It’s shocking. It’s reckless. It’s inscrutable. It’s unaffordable. It’s tyrannical. It’s detrimental. No-one in command of their faculties would intentionally concede to love, notwithstanding those who embark on self-serving transactions and hunting missions.

Love is generous, not domineering. Personally-satisfying or ingratiating interactions are the shadows of casual affairs. Love is never casual. Love is not even a conscious instigation. It is akin to duty born of compulsion. It’s scary and shocking. It’s risky and reckless. It’s insane and inscrutable. It’s uneconomical and unaffordable. It’s totalistic and tyrannical. It’s distracting and detrimental. No-one of soundness would consciously subscribe to love. It’s always the result of a malfunction.

Love resembles a war-cry that warns of imminent death — the death of the self, and the protection of another’s head. Love-songs would have us believe that our objective is to win the heart of another. Are you sure that’s what you’d want to do? What use is a second mesmerised heart? Nay, my heart aches for another who, hopefully, wants me by choice. I want a partner who desires me with all conscience, intellect, and logic. Ah, my fluttering heart for a steady head — a perfect match, because that’s how our biology works. We need a head and a heart. The giver and the taker. The yin and the yang. The night and the day. The lover and the lovee.

I can hear your questions: is that not a one-way communications network? Is this not a win-lose combination? Shouldn’t I try to secure the other person’s heart? No. That is not your job. By all means, the ultimate magic would be the criss-crossing of connections. There would be nothing sweeter than the union of two heads intertwined with two respective hearts. Such blissful unions are so few and far between, that I am not addressing them in this book. It would require sophistication beyond my humble intellect to speculate how divine friendship can co-exist with peaceful harmony. The fanciful notion of sublime harmony has eluded me, and every person I have ever known. Many years ago, I met an eighty-six year old lady with whom I happened on the subject of love. She described her own, and painted the perfect picture. She sparked some jealousy in me about her fairytale love-affair. If I were not there to hear her testimony, I would never have believed it. She spoke of bliss personified. Her admiration for her husband was such that I could not wait to meet him. It would have been my first archaeological discovery — two people whose head and heart were intertwined. With teary eyes, she announced, as if for the first time, that her lover had died fifty years ago. I could not be sure how much of her romantic memories were embellished by a yearning for her departed companion. Perhaps the span of time, and his absence, and her loyalty, had spawned an elaborate and flawless virtual friendship that had fused with distant dreams and endless hope to form an on-going relationship in the mind of this lady who prayed daily to be re-united with her partner.

The chances of the mirrored criss-cross happening to you or to me are so remote, that we are better off not allowing ourselves to be distracted from the task at hand — to learn how to surrender our hearts to trustworthy heads. What’s the benefit in that? The union of a heart with a head becomes a love-connection — we become their heart, in the same way that they become our head. This is trust. This is commitment. And if the parties are compatible, this is nourishment.

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 8 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

Grade distinctions

One of us going to get hurt

You’ve heard the expression, ‘Not waving, but drowning’. When it comes to love, many people are ‘Not flying, but falling’. It would seem that we are taken more seriously when we admit to falling in love. The uncontrolled adventure offers excitement and the promise of surprise. Danger generates adrenalin. However, what do we mean by ‘falling’ in love? How do we cope with partners who prefer to fly? What about those who clutch onto a parachute? Are they committed, or are we ill-prepared? Are they well organised, or do we have a lot to learn?

As you can appreciate, there are all sorts of people, doing all manner of things. This chapter explores two types of people: those who are prone to fall, and those who prefer to fly. Strangely enough, they are attracted to each other. After the embrace, one of them will undoubtedly suffer a greater injury. No prizes for guessing.

It is not the done-thing to ‘fly down’ to greet love. We do not ‘meander’ towards love. There is nothing passionate about going for a ‘brisk walk’ to meet love. It would be unromantic to tip-toe through a cautious reconnaissance mission to spy on love. Nay, it’s full-steam ahead, or it’s no go at all. Run, run, run, and keep running every which way, and flap about with all your might, no matter the dangers ahead. Crash through the barriers. Go, go, go, and keep going at full pelt. A brave heart heeds no warnings. Walk through the fire. Show your determination. Prove your dedication. Test your resolve.

In fact, if you do not put your entire life at risk, then it can’t be a worthwhile rendezvous because real love knows no bounds. Come, come, come towards me and stop for nothing. Should you happen to fall, you will be rewarded for your bravery. You see, no matter how fast you run, you cannot run faster than you can fall. Falling is preferred, because it is expeditious and furious; but more importantly, it will free you from the need to exert so much energy. It takes the exertion out of your hands. Free-falling requires no effort. But you must keep your eyes open, so as not to get yourself into a dither.

The dilemma is that ‘romantic love’ is a doomed sort of love whose characteristics are somewhat chain-reactive, in that two similar, but different, types of people are drawn to each other. And yet, ironically, these two are incompatible. Although they are attracted to each other, eventually they will repel each other. How strange. How bizarre. How unfair. How sad.

Imagine two metallic marbles — one red and one blue. They can survive on their own for ages. If placed in a bucket filled with hundreds of different-coloured marbles, the red and the blue will eventually work their way towards each other, simply because they are attracted to one another. They snap together like strong magnets. Although they enjoy a sensational glow when they eventually unite, their union triggers a destructive corrosion. And so it is with red and blue humans who glow in each other’s presence. Such red and blue people are better described as ‘Too’ people (who love too much and care too much) and ‘Very’ people (who love very much and care very much, but not as much as someone who is in too deep). In the good old days, this was evident when GI Joes swept their GI Brides off their feet. One of them cared very much, while the other cared too much.

Show me red and blue lovebirds, and I would confidently predict their demise. In fact, it is almost a certainty that Too people will be the ones to suffer the broken heart. Too people are those who love more and care more. Consequently, they will hurt more, more often. That is the way of things.

A light-bulb, once switched off, does not die. The moment that the power passes through it once again, it can illuminate the room. Unfortunately, love can never be switched off. When entangled in a relationship, love is one of the few human emotions that requires constant energy because love cannot stand still. If it does not continue on a path of unabated growth, love will diminish and die. Mind you, unrequited love rarely dies, because it is fuelled by perception, not by reality. Unrequited love cannot falter because it is ‘imagined bliss’. Nothing bad can ever happen to a relationship that lives in hyperspace.

In love, stagnation and hibernation are impossible. Love must go up or down. It must grow or die. It cannot hover. This phenomenon even applies to unrequited love that is fuelled by endless thoughts and daily pain. Lovesick pups would never reach for the pause switch. They prefer agony over surrender. They value anguish over defeat. It all comes down to hope: maybe, one day; maybe, some how; maybe, this time…

The Too people are attracted to the Very people, and vice versa. Unfortunately, when they collide, they wither and die, simply because Too people spin out of control. They enter an involuntary hyper-drive when they detect that the Very people are not catching up to them. Too people misconstrue this as disinterest on the part of the Very people, so they accelerate the frantic activity in the hope of pleasing more and doing more.

Before we delve into this, allow me to admit to you that I have never understood what is meant by the adage, ‘Opposites attract’. I understand that blondes often choose partners with dark hair. Notwithstanding these types of physical attractions, I am not sure how opposites attract at the mental and intrinsic levels. Are we saying that highly energetic people are attracted to lethargic layabouts? Are we to believe that morally upright citizens are drawn towards criminals? Are intelligent people more comfortable around dull non-thinkers?

The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 9 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

Starting something from nothing

Jealousy and the green-eyed monster

We all understand that a telescope allows us to peer into the distance, in order to bring far-away objects closer to us. Similarly, a microscope allows us to delve into invisible worlds so that we can journey through microcosms on the tips of pins. Unfortunately, there is no instrument that can do both.

Therefore, I need you to pretend that we have invented a telescope that can also function as a microscope. It would be this new instrument that I would use to explain how jealousy works, simply because I can think of no other available device to illustrate the anatomy of jealousy.

If you ask eminent psychologists, some would say that jealousy is a good thing, while others would disagree. Several studies have shown that jealousy in relationships can be healthy, while others have explained that jealousy can lead to extreme violence, including murder. This is quite a powerful emotion: to love someone to such a degree that you kill them. Extremists are humans in the raw. Before we incarcerate them, let us try to understand their behaviour. What they are capable of, is also within our capability. They are just like us. We are just like them — give or take a few decisions amidst strengths and weaknesses, balanced atop passion and compassion.

Jealousy is bipolar — in that it is not only like a powerful instrument (such as the telescope) that can bring distant objects closer to us, but also like a precision tool (such as the microscope) that can take us to invisible objects. However, jealousy is neither an instrument nor a tool, but a living cell that can build its own transporter. This is like a jet of water that can build its own hose, in order to reach its target.

Jealousy has the capacity to embrace the large (as does the telescope) and then to capture the small (as does the microscope). Its mission is to seek further, further, further, and then to delve deeper, deeper, deeper… No end. No need. Jealousy is like an insatiable question for whom answers merely trigger other questions.

Unhealthy.

It is fascinating that people cannot agree about the status of jealousy. Is it good or bad? Should we foster it or banish it? Is it useful or destructive? Can it bring people closer together, or rip them apart? Does it keep partners on track, or does it derail them? Is it a sensing tool used to detect infidelity, or a disease that causes irritation? Is it an emotion that nature has engineered in Homo sapiens, or a by-product of the days when primates relied more on instinct than on intellect?

For whatever purpose we engage in jealousy, or for whatever reason we fall into its grip, we would do well if we could recognise its power. It is like no other human emotion. It can feed on itself. It has its own energy source. It adds no value to a relationship — except that some people are gratified to learn that their partner is afflicted with it.

Unhealthy. Warped.

So, not only must we understand its power, we must also know that if we ever allow it to infect us, we will never be able to get rid of it. Here is the central message of this chapter: to combat jealousy, we must not underestimate its power. As such, we must fear it. If it ever takes hold, we will not be able to get rid of it — not until it has won.

Jealousy is draining because it forces us to place the key to our emotions in someone else’s hands. Jealousy is destructive because it takes control away from us and gives it to someone else to manipulate. Jealousy forces us to view the world through a narrow portal that zooms-in on our captors. We watch them. We observe their every action. We stare at their movements. We study their behaviour. We query their decisions. And we are always at their mercy. Any move they make is felt by us. No matter how hard we try, we cannot do anything about it, because it has nothing to do with us. It is out of our control. We are merely spectators who are spellbound by mighty performers who bring us to tears.

Jealousy relates to what someone else does or refuses to do. It refers to what others choose to give or refuse to share. It relies on how much someone accepts or rejects us. It’s all about how important we are to someone else. Jealousy is the epitome of abdication. (The disease of abdication is one of the nine deadly intangible diseases that I outlined in my book, How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Your Boss, in a chapter called ‘Please cancel my disorder’. These diseases are re-printed at the end of this chapter, where ‘abdication’ heads the list.)

Jealousy is the first cousin to selfishness. Selfishness asks for complete control, while jealousy gives control to others. Selfishness puts self first, while jealousy pleads to be put first by others. Selfishness is bold. Jealousy is timid.

Jealous people surrender their self-esteem, their sanity, their happiness, and their contentment. They place it all in someone else’s hands and then they set out to beg for its return. They relinquish what they need most. They know what they want, but they insist on it being spoon-fed back to them.

Conversely, selfish people commandeer what they desire. They would never allow others to take hold of anything important.

Selfish people look after themselves, while jealous people want others to look after them and to make them happy. Those who need others to make them happy are bordering on misery. They are forever expectant, yet their captors hardly give them a second thought, partly because their captors have no idea that their performance is magnified to such a degree that the smallest of vibrations eventually cascade to become major tremors.

Selfishness is the most destructive of human conditions. It fools people into thinking that they are looking after themselves. Selfish people think that they are taking action to improve their position, when in fact, the very act of
selfishness pushes people away. A selfish person wants, and in so wanting, ends up pushing away the people they are trying to attract. Jealousy has the same effect, but operates from the other end of the spectrum. While selfishness pushes people away, jealousy tries to force itself onto others. Both produce devastating outcomes.