The following are approximately the first 1000 words from Chapter 13 of Jonar Nader’s book,
How to Lose Friends and Infuriate Lovers.

Why can’t you be more like me?

Take it, or leave it

I guess we can agree that humans have two legs, two arms, two eyes, and the rest. When it comes to physical factors, we can understand what a human is supposed to look like (internally and externally), even though no two are completely alike — notwithstanding identical twins (who eventually grow older at a different pace, depending on how well they look after their physical and mental health).

When our external physical features are vastly different, they are easily spotted. For example, we could tell if someone has only one leg. Yet, how would we catalogue invisible characteristics such as human emotions? How would we know which set of emotions we are supposed to possess? Furthermore, are there such things as artificial emotions that we have invented? Or, can we assume that any and all emotions are part of our genetic make-up? Perhaps some reactions and feelings come under the banner of ‘parasitic emotions’ whereby they are natural, but useless, if not downright damaging.

The word ‘normal’ is fraught with complications because the term has so many meanings, and it is used to describe different things in music, electronics, biology, chemistry, mathematics, psychology, and carpentry — whence the term originated (norma was the Latin word for a carpenter’s square; it also described a rule or a pattern).

At this stage, I am not interested in the typical argument about who is normal. Instead, I am curious to know if we, as social beings, can really measure ourselves against a blueprint. We can only do this if we have access to the master plan (the source-code) — without which, how would I know if my feelings are aligned to the way I was designed? How would I know if I am suffering an abnormality? Am I the way a human ought to be, or am I off the page? It would do my heart good to know if what I am suffering from, or grappling with, is part of the technical specifications for my species. I would like to know if I am harbouring an undesirable defect that could lead to a short-circuit. After all, we would not hesitate to visit a doctor if we felt a lump in the wrong place. If we were in pain, we would seek immediate treatment. Why then do we not treat emotional pain with similar suspicion and concern? Why do we just assume that it’s all part of the grand design?

Instead of removing emotional pain, we seek to appease it. We search for ways to give it what it wants. We feed it. We obey it. We never rush to remove emotional warts, simply because we cannot show them to anyone. The only first-aid that some people administer is tranquilisers, whether these be in pill-form or the amber liquid.

I can appreciate that your emotions and mine are not calibrated. Of the 100 billion people who have shared this planet, it’s unlikely that any two have ever shared the same thumb shape, let alone the same thumbprint. Similarly, there are vast differences in emotional characteristics. Irrespective of the variances, do we all possess the same set of emotions? Do we all start out with the same base ingredients? Further-more, is hypocrisy a common trait in all humans? Is the very art of making excuses also part of our circuitry? On the other hand, what if emotions do not exist outright? Maybe they are like perfume — the result of how ingredients are mixed together? As such, each of us can mix an array of scents, fragrances, notes, and odours. How we arrive at each aroma might be too baffling to unravel, especially when we do not keep a journal of our concoctions, any more than a bubbling spa-bath can keep a record of its tumultuous activity. If you place a camera over the spa-bath and take one photo per second, over a ten-year period, and assuming there’s no evaporation, you’ll not see two identical wave patterns within the tub, despite the variables being nowhere near as complex as that of human emotions.

Basically, I am just wondering if there is any way of knowing what it means to be an authentic human. Categorising ourselves would require a candour so pure that we would dread its velocity. For many of us, honesty and dishonesty are as uncomfortable as each other, and in most cases, the two impostors are troubling in each other’s presence. For this reason, we might never find out if we are the way we ought to be. Not enough of us are sufficiently brave to submit to such an invasive emotional examination. Despite our bravado, most of us would blanch at an invitation to let it all out. We fear that an exposé would lead to ridicule. Yet, my hunch is that we are not as unique as we might think. I imagine that there are many people just like you, and just as many just like me, but none nearby to give us comfort; and none so unabashed to divulge their serial number. That’s one secret that shall remain in the closet; partly because we would not want to bare our bosom to the world, and partly because none of us can know our entire technical specifications — meaning that we do not know who we are. We were not born with an operator’s manual, so we are as much a surprise to our self as we are to each other. How observant it was of Gibran Kahlil Gibran who noted that if we were to ‘confess our sins to one another, we would all laugh at one another for our lack of originality.’ Nonetheless, we dare not come out of the closet. There are powerful taboos that keep people within their own black holes. Anyone who deviates from the rules of engagement will be admonished.

Humans? We are.

Normal? We shall never know.

We keep our idiosyncrasies locked away, for fear of embarrassing ourselves. Ah, embarrassment! How amazing. Of all the strange emotions, here is one that is totally voluntary, yet robustly uncompromising. It can shut us up, shut us in, and shut us out. If embarrassment could be bottled and sprayed upon the masses, we would have found the secret to crowd-control and mind-control. People would simply follow the instructions, as obediently as some of them follow their religion. To the blindly religious, it is not faith that drives their behaviour. It is fear that herds them. They do not see the fear as pressure. They see it as obligation, bordering on duty, whose foundations are called morality. Mix in some pride, and you have an army ready to lay down its life; happily and willingly. Promise future reward, and now you have a self-energising social system that is the epitome of voluntary teamwork. Anyone who deviates will be herded back by the team through a series of natural reactions — and no-one notices, because it happens automatically!