Be a Nice person
The video’s portrayal of the “nice person” is accurate — I resonate with it.
But the problem is not niceness itself.
Being nice is not a flaw; it is a response to life’s conditioning.
It arises from two roots:
A fear of conflict.
A love of harmony — the wish to see others happy.
Calling niceness “selfish” is shallow.
If “selfish” means seeking approval or joy through good deeds, then every being is selfish — mother, soldier, friend alike. By such logic, selflessness does not exist.
But language matters. We call “selfish” those who harm others for gain, and “selfless” those who help others despite cost.
By that definition, nice people are selfless.
They may be lonely, yes. But sadness visits every temperament.
Their conflict-avoidance stems from fear — a different kind of fear, not of harm, but of hurting or disappointing others.
And fear, like joy, is part of being human.
True niceness is reliability under strain.
You can depend on the nice person — they will help even at personal cost.
That is virtue, not weakness.
Friendship reveals this truth sharply: people want the nice friend when they need help, not when they seek excitement. They want notes, not presence. Relief, not reciprocity.
They call that practical. I call it hypocrisy.
Expecting reciprocity is not selfishness — it is humanity.
To desire gratitude or respect is natural.
To hope for decency from others is not arrogance — it is ethics.
Every personality has its gifts and burdens. The “nice” carry compassion and fear together.
That is their nature.
And nature, as the Bhagavad Gฤซtฤ says — svabhฤvas tu pravartate — always prevails.
So accept your nature. Accept your flaws and fears, your strengths and beauty.
They are the boundary conditions of your life’s equation.
All are cursed; all are blessed.
Joy and sorrow dance in rhythm, trading turns endlessly.
One can strive, yes — but in the end, acceptance is liberation.
Relax. Breathe. Be.
On addiction and solitude
Addiction need not mean drugs or alcohol.
It can be a behaviour, a thought pattern, a person, or even a constant need for noise.
A drug is not the problem.
The drug is the solution.
The real problem is the pain from which one seeks escape.
We fight the solution; we rarely heal the wound.
At the root of every addiction — chemical or otherwise — lies one common syndrome:
a deep allergy to one’s own company.
The Social Disease
We obsess over narcotics, legalization, and moral debates, while quietly feeding the same disease that breeds addiction:
discomfort with solitude.
Society teaches us from childhood to fear being alone:
“Don’t sit idle — go play with your friends.”
“Get married, have children — why be alone?”
“Divorced? Who will take care of you?”
“Sannyฤsa? Wonderful — which maแนญha will you be joining?”
At every step, the world whispers: belong, attach, engage, depend.
To be “a part of” something is virtuous;
to be “apart” is suspect.
The Forgotten Freedom
And yet, in yoga, kaivalya — the final liberation — literally means “aloneness.”
From kevala — “alone.”
Freedom, then, is not found in belonging,
but in learning to be utterly with oneself.
Perhaps that is the only cure for addiction of any kind —
not withdrawal, not substitution,
but a slow reconciliation with the self we’ve been running from.
Addiction need not mean drugs or alcohol.
It can be a behaviour, a thought pattern, a person, or even a constant need for noise.
A drug is not the problem.
The drug is the solution.
The real problem is the pain from which one seeks escape.
We fight the solution; we rarely heal the wound.
At the root of every addiction — chemical or otherwise — lies one common syndrome:
a deep allergy to one’s own company.
Introvert or Extrovert?
The timeless debate.
Those drawn to art, thought, or science often lean toward introversion — specialists, thinkers, creators.
Those drawn to power, politics, or commerce thrive on extroversion — connectors, negotiators, managers.
Both are survival strategies: one of inward excellence, the other of outward influence.
