Identity?

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“I am a failure. I am an envious failure. Let’s think about it: I am 22 years old, have no skills, and am single—not because I chose to be single, but simply because I cannot have a girl. I had one, but as it happens with narcissistic perverts who don’t know what to do but make others’ lives a misery, she left. That was the best decision of her life. As far as I’m concerned, I had nothing to offer her, and all I would do is suck the energy out of her life. Oh, I enjoyed doing that; I did that as long as I had the chance, and trust me, I was good at creating such opportunities. A parasite, that’s what I am. Always looking for a host. I became one to my family, my community, and now I am a parasite to the rest of the world. This is my story.”

These are the words with which my friend Cocobongo received me, on his hospital bed at Saint-Denis, after a failed attempt to take his life. What brought him to such an extreme act?

If there is no inherent problem with porn, then why do I feel such shame and loneliness afterward?

To quit porn, I realized I need to cultivate a sense of urgency—something close to the feeling of being on the edge of death, but not too extreme. I’ve observed something in myself: when something important needs to be done, every cell in me focuses entirely on resolving that task. But when I don’t see any progress, when nothing seems to be moving forward, I tend to overwhelm myself to the point of misery. And in those moments, something inside me urges me to reproduce, almost like a primal instinct.

Also when life feels too easy, my body interprets that as a sign that conditions are good enough for reproduction. However, when the conditions are harsh—especially when it comes to unaddressed stress—my body reacts as if the world is falling apart. If porn is around, my body seems to view it as the only way to escape the stress. It’s as though my cells are telling me that, if I were to die, at least my genes would live on—even if it’s just an illusion.

When life presents problems too overwhelming to bear, my instinct often drives me into a flight response. This was especially true when my visa expired, and the government refused to renew it. The stress was so suffocating that I found myself utterly lost, unable to cope. How should I even begin to ask a lawyer for help? Where would I find the money to pay for one? I couldn’t see a path forward. The problem loomed before me like an insurmountable wall, and rather than confront it, I ran.

It felt as if my very existence was under threat—like death was crouching just around the corner. In moments like these, every cell in my body screamed at me to escape, to find refuge. But where could I run? The truth is, the places I sought solace were mere distractions, never solutions.

I turned to small comforts—watching the news that aligned with my beliefs, hoping it would soothe my mind. When that no longer worked, I’d escape into movies, eating sandwiches until I was uncomfortably full, trying to smother the gnawing anxiety. But the problem remained, lurking in the shadows. Eventually, my flight would lead me to porn—a deceptive escape. At that moment, every part of me would convince itself that I was doing the right thing, that this fleeting indulgence was somehow a solution.

But it’s not. The body rewards you for what it perceives as an act of survival—an attempt to pass on your genes. It doesn’t understand that it’s all an illusion. And so, the illusion rewards you, but only temporarily. Then, like clockwork, you return to reality. The problem is still there, untouched and unresolved. You’ve wasted time, and the stress doubles down, tightening its grip. And so, the cycle begins anew.

As I’ve written in one of my blogs, addictions are self-feeding problems. One form of escape often leads to another, each dragging you deeper into an endless abyss. A video game addiction might spiral into an anime binge, which leads to yet another form of distraction. You keep searching for the bottom of the abyss, but there isn’t one. The descent is infinite.

One action begets another. The escape grows, consuming your time, your energy, and your clarity. It’s a desperate attempt to avoid the unbearable weight of life’s problems, but it never truly lifts that weight. Instead, it compounds it.

I also came to see the hypocrisy in myself. I used to despise this man for having many women in his life, or this other for cheating on his partner. But am I any different? All those naked women I saw—what makes me different from them? I was casting stones at these men when, in fact, I was doing the same thing, just in a different form.

I don’t know if I have ever truly loved someone, but I do know that I have hurt myself deeply in the process of trying to be loved. That, I believe, is the greatest crime I have committed against myself.

The thought of being loved by someone became an obsession before I even realized it. The more I wanted it, the more I lost touch with who I was, molding myself into something I was not.

They say it is human to seek love, and I believe that to be true. But when that yearning turns into desperation, it becomes a vice. My quest for her love became exactly that—a form of desperation. In hindsight, I don’t even know if it was love. Perhaps I conflated the two: love and desperation.

This desperation led to unnecessary niceties, an unhealthy escape into pornography, endless hours of anime, relentless daydreaming, and a lack of focus on my own growth. Somehow, I came to believe that, like everyone else, I needed someone to love and someone to love me in return. When you internalize that belief, not having it feels like a recipe for suffering.

And that’s when desperation creeps in, prompting you to change—either who you are or how you perceive the world around you—just to make it happen.

Yet, the question lingers: should finding love be a prerequisite for a meaningful life? And if you don’t find it, does that mean your life is somehow lesser, unworthy? Should you look down on yourself, deem your existence meaningless, or alter reality just to make it true?

What is love?

A Journey of Self-Discovery and Challenge

Some writers feel like they’re speaking directly to our souls. Reading them is like having the most intimate conversation with oneself—a dialogue that reaches into the deepest parts of our lives. In their words, I find reflections of my own thoughts, questions, and struggles. These mentors—Jesus, Seneca, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy, Friedrich Nietzsche, Nassim Nicholas Taleb, Naval Ravikant, and Ray Dalio—have profoundly shaped my journey.

Their guidance has been a blessing. The ancients have provided me with moral, emotional, philosophical, and psychological foundations. They challenge me to think deeply about courage, integrity, and the nature of a good life. The contemporary thinkers, on the other hand, have opened my mind to the complexities of the modern world. Thanks to them, I have found the strength and perspective to cope with my current situation as an immigrant in France. What a gift it is to live in an age where the wisdom of centuries past and present is accessible at our fingertips. The internet truly is a modern miracle.

Yet, I find it hard to always live by their teachings. Jesus and Ray Dalio both ask for unwavering truthfulness, but I find myself falling short. Seneca and Nassim Taleb emphasize courage, but I struggle to embody it. My decision to stay in France was driven by a desire not to disappoint my family, yet the reality is that I remain undocumented. Though the authorities know of my presence, the truth of my situation feels like a contradiction to the ideals of integrity and transparency these mentors espouse.

I have often complained about my circumstances, forgetting that I chose them. The door has always been open, and I could leave if I wished. Yet fear of the unknown—of what comes next—has kept me rooted here. In my silence, I have witnessed nonsense and injustice, afraid that speaking out would make things worse. I’ve lied to myself and sought the validation of others, straying far from the path laid out by those I admire.

But perhaps the struggle itself is the point. These mentors were human, too. They struggled, faltered, and failed (Like Ray Dalio, whom I particularly admire among our contemporaries). They didn’t live perfect lives but left behind wisdom born from their imperfections. To measure myself against their ideals is not to find failure but to find direction. I am still far from their recommendations, but I am on the path. I stumble, but I move forward.

The journey is not easy, but it is mine. And for that, I am blessed.

No, it is not a sign of weakness. It is a proof of once’s capacity to look at situations with objective eyes.

It is one of the best way I know to remove an unnecessary burden upon once shoulder.

Sometimes we rationalize instead of asking for forgiveness. We create unnecessary stories. Our EGO creates unnecessary stories, instead of saying “sorry”.

Have you sinned against man or God or whatever?

Confess. Repent. Move on.

When you hurt, ask for forgiveness, even if the person hurt is the devil.

Free yourself.

But when is it mare weakness? Have this from my friend Cocobongo:

He died the day he had a fight with his father. That was the day he had to apologize when, in truth, his dad was the one in wrong. The memory of that moment is etched into his soul. It remains his greatest loss—not just of the battle, but of a part of himself.

But that’s not the whole story.

He was the one to ask for forgiveness. He was “the one responsible for the wrong.”? To use his words.

I have always struggled with living alongside hatred. Whenever it begins to take root in me, I go through tremendous internal pain and conflict. As a result, I generally choose to forgive. Forgiveness frees me, preventing hatred from growing.

But I wonder: is this truly virtuous? I forgive not solely for the sake of forgiveness, but to unburden myself. It is often an act directed toward myself rather than the other party.

Or is it a sign of weakness? Perhaps I forgive because I lack the means to retaliate? Instead, I hide behind rationalized thoughts of forgiveness, like my friend Cocobongo.

Another thing worth noting: I never truly forget. Can we really call it forgiveness in this case? I move forward, but even the smallest behavioral cues can remind me of the past wrong, and I find myself on guard.

Sometimes, no, most of the time instead of “helping” people suffering, the best thing to do is to show some respect.

What if the suffering is precisely what the person needs? His personal cross to bear? The road towards his elevation?

As an illegal in country, many came to pity my friend for his situation. Many thought of his working hard as a form of exploitation. They believed he was unhappy for all the long hours of work. What’s more interesting, is that, he also, started believing in that. He started thinking that he was “unhappy”, as everyone will think. he started defining happiness based on others definition of happiness. He unconsciously started complaining about his life. To have the approval of those around him. He entered into side gossips. To validates others view of him as the victim of some grand skim.

The “suffering” is precisely what he longed for. When he left that space of “hell” as others will say, he went back to it. For it was precisely what he needed for his elevation. He understood that it was his cross to bear. Many man cannot bear the face of an enduring man. For he proves them that they have been avoiding what they should have carried a long time ago. That is why they want you to go easy. You shouldn’t be a living testimony of their been mediocre with themselves.

If you are not careful, you will believe in this philosophy. What a meaningless life for a person like my friend.

Some people find meaning in others people suffering. We want to bring them out of that suffering, out of charity. What if it is purely out of ego. To prove to ourselves that we are charitable. To prove to the world that we are charitable. Your “pity” and “charity” might be more unbearable than the person’s “suffering”.

The devil also has some noble characters, otherwise, why will he be considered one of God’s angel. Go to “hell” my friend and face the devil. Your demons. Become a man.

Farewell.

For you to change before people who are used to seeing you with a specific eye, you must be willing to die before them. You must be courageous enough to let them see that you shan’t compromise. That you are changing. You will be scorned by them if not, then you are not changing.

I know you. I know the mask you wear, the one made of niceness, hiding your true nature. Beneath that smile and those kind gestures lies a weakness—one that stems from a lack of true character and strength. I’ve seen it in the way you’ve allowed yourself to be harmed by others, ever since you became an illegal immigrant, ever since you lost that fight against that man. Since then, you’ve become a puppet to those around you, no longer standing up for yourself, no longer asserting your own will.

Look at who you’ve become. People call you “the nice T.” They see you as the harmless, easy-going guy, the one who avoids trouble and keeps the peace. But in truth, that label is simply a reflection of the battles you’ve lost, the ones you never fought, the moments when you submitted without a second thought. You’ve allowed yourself to be shaped by others, unconsciously submitting to their demands, avoiding conflicts that you should have faced head-on. People may praise you for your niceness, but do they truly respect you?

The truth is, to be respected is far more valuable than to be called the “nice guy.” Niceness, when it is merely a tool to please others, is not a virtue. It is a sign of weakness. It is easy to be kind to those who deserve it, but kindness toward those who take advantage of it is not justice. It’s a vice. I’ve come to realize that by always choosing to be nice, I’ve let others dictate my worth. In the process, I’ve avoided confronting my deepest fears and demons. I’ve tried to fill the void within me by being excessively kind to others, as if my niceness could somehow compensate for my own internal emptiness. But I’ve learned that the only way to fill that void is to become strong.

It’s not about being harsh, cruel, or unkind. I don’t ask you to become mean. What I ask is that you become strong—strong in who you are, strong in your convictions, and strong enough to put yourself in a position of power, where you no longer feel compelled to be nice to those who don’t deserve it. Strength is not about being confrontational for the sake of it. It’s about being confident in your boundaries and your worth. When you’re strong in all areas of your life, you don’t need to rely on niceness to protect you. You can afford to treat others justly and not let your kindness be misused.

But why, you might ask, are you this nice? Why have you allowed niceness to define you? The truth is, you were told it’s a virtue. But who told you that? Those who benefit from your niceties. You were taught that niceness is the key to acceptance and peace, but in reality, it often leaves you empty, unfulfilled, and taken advantage of. The niceness that you so deeply believe in has only served to prevent you from achieving the things you truly desire in life. It’s the reason you face hardships that others do not, the reason some people do not respect you as a man to be reckoned with. The truth is, your niceness is both your greatest asset and one of your worst liabilities. You don’t yet know where it applies and where it doesn’t. To be nice when necessary is to be just. But to be kind to everyone without discernment is to weaken yourself.

This realization has changed my understanding of myself. I no longer want to be defined by my niceness. I want to be defined by my strength, by my ability to stand firm in my values, to say no when I must, and to treat others justly—not because I fear conflict, but because I know my worth. Niceness, when it is wielded with wisdom and strength, can be a virtue. But without discernment, it becomes a weakness. I have to learn when it is appropriate to be nice and when it’s necessary to stand my ground. To be just is not to avoid discomfort, but to face the truth of what is right and act on it.

I urge you, my friend: stop letting niceness be your crutch. Stop letting it be the mask you wear to avoid conflict or protect your ego. Instead, embrace strength. Find the courage to face your demons and grow from the challenges life throws at you. Strength is not a sign of cruelty; it’s a sign of integrity. Be strong in every area of your life—so that when it matters, you won’t be compelled to act nicely toward those who don’t deserve it.

Niceness is a powerful tool when used correctly. But it’s not enough to just be nice. You must be just, you must be strong, and you must know when to stand your ground. This is the path to true respect and fulfillment.