THE UNLOVED NARCISSIST

No one is born a narcissist. That poo doesn’t flow in the gene, I suppose. It’s more like a defect that looms in the air, contacted by the poorly oriented, or at the most, the rich in acquisition. But none of those was the case with the unloved narcissist. From the groins of a regular dad, he underwent a 9-month nurture in the womb of a meek mom.

As a teenager, 30-year-olds housed him in their company on account of his level-headedness. He was richly oriented; all thanks to the higher beings of blissful paradise. But though his wealth of brilliance commanded the attention of the high and mighty, getting equally rich in acquisition seemed a mystery that beat his brilliance to it.

On the wrong side of bachelorhood already, still, nothing to show except accumulated knowledge, experience, understanding, prudence, sensibility, insight, and common sense. Consequently, misery set in, and he resorted to finding solace in LOVE. But his quest for romance tripled his misery, injecting in his soul an impossible puzzle.

His best shot was a French-speaking Nigerian beauty who never ceased to irritate him with her high-pitched voice, supercilious tone, and feigned generosity. His mom’s breed were either distant adorers who came to be familiar loathers, or ghostly shadows, or glaringly invisible treasures; a riddle he looked to the higher beings for a pending explanation.

He couldn’t help embracing the way of the Lizard, expressing approval of himself for every job, whether well done or not. He walked the earth half dead, duly recognized by legitimate beings, craftily tailed by intellectual pests, artfully adored by grouchy lovers, but scarcely embraced by the only ones his heart went out for; a thing he considered a deliberate cruelty that should never go unrewarded even if the heavens were to fall on the earth.


He lost his once tender emotions to excessive bitterness, laconically throwing salutes at legitimate beings, outrightly giving the middle finger to intellectual pests, coldly undermining grouchy lovers, and passionately abhorring the only ones his heart desired.

He’s now consumed by an inflated idea of self-importance. Leveraging on the soundness of his mind and a fair knowledge of technology, he came up with programming codes that were auctioned off to one of the wealthiest technology experts in the world at a whopping $30bn. At long last, wealth became a reality. But what about love?

Money bought him his once imaginary kingdom: the council of elders, beautiful maidens at his service, and innumerable subjects. But in all, one thing lacked; a Queen. Often times, he stood by the window of his castle and looked through the casement to behold a mammoth crowd of maidens pledging to wash his feet with their tears and wipe them with their hair every day of their lives if adorned with the queenly crown, or if as much as granted audience.

It was now much more difficult for him to pinpoint a worthy queen, a loyal wife, a true lover, a best friend: his heart desire. But he couldn’t care any less about her again. Why did she have to wait for the traffic to get this high? Why did she leave him wanting and wandering back in the days? What had she been doing all that time? Where had she been?

He couldn’t also care any less about the mammoth crowd of maidens that surrounded his citadel in hope of winning his affection with their persistence. However, most of the maidens eventually dropped their ambition for the much coveted queenly crown and only appealed to his Mercy side for a little aid.

The harshness of the sun’s heat took its toll on them and the rains baptized them a thousand times, yet the unloved narcissist only cared about delighting himself in the comforting thoughts of his long-awaited wealthiness. As far as he was concerned, the world revolved around his riches.

He didn’t care who judged him for being real. He was definitely not going to fake anything about himself to gain the love he had all his life been starved of. He grew to love himself excessively that his self-love seemed to fill the vacuum that was meant for emotional love; though the vacuum was never really filled.

Just like all men, he feared the inevitable destiny of the living: DEATH! Without finding love before death, will his life really count? Just before the word “NO” invades the mind and finds expression through the mouth, consider the progression of his life and answer this: will he ever find love? Will he ever be loved? Will he ever be any more than an UNLOVED NARCISSIST?