I eat meat, just like most people. In fact, being an Afrikaner, I probably eat more meat than most. I have absolutely no problem in eating meat. We were made to eat meat and it’s the natural order of things. We were also made to hunt the animals that we eat. Our entire evolution is dictated by our craving for food and our need to outsmart our food.
But something strange happened to some of us during our evolution. Some of us started enjoying killing. The purpose of the kill changed from hunting to sport, from necessity to fun. Thinking about it, I wondered what the similarities were between serial killers and trophy hunters. Could it be that trophy hunters are psychopathic serial killers?
Similarities between Trophy Hunters & Serial Killers:
Compelled to keep a trophy or souvenir from their victims
The killing is addictive and leads to more killings
They seek fame, attention, and notoriety
The kills are premeditated
The killing gives a surge of adrenalin (“thrill kill”)
Stalking the victim gives a feeling of excitement
Killing becomes a compulsion or addiction
The killing is seen as a “sport” or “game”
There’s a down time (“cooling off” period) between killings
Gives the killer a feeling of power, dominance, and control over their victim
Many document their kills via photos and/or videos to gratify themselves later – as seen on Facebook by some of these monsters.
Quite compelling, don’t you think? Personally I find trophy hunting disturbing, revolting and completely socially unacceptable, very much like serial killing…
I find all the Trump Thumpers hilarious. The indignation they have because of this obnoxious man that stole the presidency.
Watching CNN today and it’s all they can talk about. How unfit he is to be president and how he’s going to destroy the most powerful country in the world. He’s going to be Putin’s new best buddy and the rest of the world is going to be destroyed in a nuclear holocaust.
I’m making a list of all the Trump Thumpers and when he turns out to be a great president I will be the first to mock them. I don’t particularly like the guy but that’s not important. Having a president that you “like” is not important. What is important that he gets things done. Period.
What’s important is that he manages to fix a catastrophic foreign policy that has seen the US engaged in countless wars over the past 50 years.
What’s important is that he creates employment and saves the economy from imminent disaster.
What’s important is that he extricates the US from all their international meddling. I don’t particularly care if he’s not a nice guy. The best leaders are seldom “nice” guys.
Frankly, the many negative aspects that everyone is focused on, are in my opinion, the very reasons why he will be a good president.
He’s not ideological.
He’s a pragmatist. That’s a good thing. Ideology is for dreamers and a president shouldn’t be a dreamer but a doer.
He’s a dealmaker.
Like him or loathe him, one thing is certain. He can do deals and that is what a president should do – every day.
He’s financially minded.
At least he can count, not like South Africa’s president, Jacob Zuma. Actually, being a good businessman requires all the character traits needed to be a good president.
He’s not a politician.
Politicians are the pits. We all know this and we all hate them, so why are we so against a president that is not a politician? That’s a good thing, right?
The Trump Thumpers are in for a shock. I predict that he will be a great president (don’t confuse that with great guy).
He’s focused inward.
That’s a really good thing. The US has been sticking it’s nose into other people’s business for far too long. They can’t be the policeman of the world any longer. Trump is going to focus on the US.
He’s going to shake things up.
The US/Russia relationship has been a disaster since the second world war. He wants to fix that. Critics gasp in horror at the thought. Why? Because they need a boogeyman. Who’s going to be the boogeyman if Putin becomes “cuz Vlad”?
He doesn’t give a shit.
I like that. You need a fearless leader that forges ahead against all odds. One thing is certain. He’s not playing this game to lose.
The majority of the world underestimated him when he joined the presidential race. He won. The majority of the world think he’s going to be a lousy president. He’s going to prove everyone wrong again. He loves being the underdog and I like underdogs too.
New age arrogance is a really horrid thing. It’s a cancer that started about 10 years ago and it has been growing rapidly.
New age arrogance is when a company such as Tripadvisor resorts to complex forums and other techniques to avoid speaking to their customers. Customers that have problems with their property or business listing on Tripadvisor has no way of resolving their issues or problems and Tripadvisor has become so big that they don’t give a shit. They can lose thousands of customers and it won’t make the slightest difference.
Instead of providing proper customer service, they create support forums that are , you guessed it, managed by their clients! And the incredible thing is that the average customer is such an idiot that he does it gladly, spending hours answering support questions for the “community” for no reward.
Tripadvisor has not one email address listed. No way to contact anyone at the Tripadvisor Empire. It’s actually really pathetic. What makes it worse is that their systems are really poor. They are great at raking in the money by enticing customers to join due to their size, but when it comes to after sales support, they must be in the Top 10 worst customer service organisations on the planet. Google of course takes the number one spot for being über assholes.
Now, other companies are also following suit, the suits and pony tails doing the Macarena in the hallways because they managed to find a way to avoid employing decent support staff – milking their stupid customers for more, whilst actually doing less.
This model will backfire. The Tripadvisor’s and Google’s will perish one day to be replaced by companies that are truly customer centric and service orientated.
I don’t need their crap service and you don’t either. The less people support these parasitic organisations the sooner we will create the space for quality companies to thrive. Companies that appreciate their customers.
It was smack bang in the middle of winter 5 years ago that I embarked on an adventure I will never forget. The funny thing is that what I perceived as an adventure, millions of people experience as everyday life.
It was 4am on a bleak winters morning in the Joburg CBD. The city was already busy with taxis and pedestrians making their way. Unbelievable how noisy the city can be at that time of the morning. The roisterous taxis were hooting and the drivers shouting for passengers to get on board. The smog was hanging low over Eloff street as I made my way to Noord street, the biggest taxi rank in Jozi.
I was nervous. After all, I’m a white dude and as out-of-place as a missile in a bathtub. It seemed as if everyone was looking at me. Staring. Thinking about it now I think they were. But I was keeping my eyes on the dirty sidewalk, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.
Noord street taxi rank is a huge, sprawling, bustling hive of activity with hundreds, no, maybe thousands of taxis lined up to move passengers around the 600 square miles of metropolitan Joburg. Smog town. It could be the title of a low budget horror movie.
To be a pedestrian here is either to be bold or to be poor.
My adventure was to get a taxi from Noord street to Orlando in Soweto where I would spend the two nights with a friend. The next day I would catch a train from Soweto back to Jozi and walk to Noord street taxi rank to catch a taxi to Sandton.
Why in gods name would any self respecting white dude do this? Because I wanted to experience life as the majority of our population experience it, every day. I know, two days is nothing compared to a lifetime, but this was my opportunity to try and connect with my fellow citizens.
Little did I know how absolutely profound this experience was going to be. Thinking back, this was one of the most surreal experiences I have ever had. I’d rather do this again than climbing Mount Everest.
I eventually found the correct taxi. It was a mission. Everything is foreign. But for the regular travelers it’s as easy and obvious as us whiteys driving to Woolies in the Prado. Once in the taxi you wait until it’s filled up. And man oh man can they fill it up. I stopped counting at 15 because I was concentrating too hard on trying to breathe. I was convinced that if they squeeze one more person into the taxi it would burst open like a ripe peach.
The taxi drove off, direction Soweto. The first thing I noticed was how happy everyone was. Laughing, joking and chatting as if they were on their way to a family holiday in the Maldives. You pay the taxi fare by handing the cash to the person in front of you. They then pass it forward to the passenger in the front seat who keeps the money for the driver. Incidentally when the front passenger got in the taxi he fastened his seatbelt and the driver said; “You’re not in your mothers car”.
The taxi stopped anywhere. On yellow lines, in front of fire hydrants, in the middle of intersections. Anywhere. I eventually understood that he picks up passengers wherever he could to keep the taxi full. It wasn’t like he was some recidivist anarchist in a Mad Max movie. It was all business.
We arrived in Orlando Soweto and I climbed out. I was in the heart of the largest black city in Africa. Not a white face to be seen. But, nobody cared. I was invisible. The smell of Kota drifted through the air. Kota is basically mince and mash. Think of the kota as an evolving township street food burger. R10 bought me a plate full of divine tastes. I chowed my Kota-looks-like-bunny-chow while watching the people bustle past. I was starting to get into this. Frankly I was surprised that I hadn’t been robbed yet. I was invisible.
The map to my friends place was easy to follow. I was still not comfortable enough not to constantly look over my shoulder, expecting to see a gang of tsotsis following me. No one followed me though. I was walking in Soweto, a white guy. Alone. And I was ok.
After 45 minutes I arrived at the house. It was a pleasant little face brick house opposite a school. Kids were playing on the field. Innocent was waiting for me at the gate. His toothy smile made me feel welcome immediately. “You made it” he said, with a hint of surprise in his voice.
I was introduced to his family. They had all dressed up for the occasion, waiting in the lounge. It was almost formal, like being introduced to the royal household. Nkgono (grandmother) was last. Eight people lived in the same house. A two bedroom house a little bigger than my own bedroom.
I learned that they were the lucky ones. Grandma receives a pension because her husband worked on the the railways for many years before he passed away. At the end of the month everyone put their money together to pay for food and other living expenses. Everything is shared. Millions of others cannot afford a house and they live in shacks made from plastic and corrugated metal sheets. Millions don’t have running water or electricity.
We spent the evening eating and talking and grandma made a pot of tea. It was a delightful evening and I completely forgot that I was in the middle of a black township. While laying in bed I thought of the last time I was there. It was in 1983. The riots were everywhere and I was deployed to Soweto for a short stint in June 1983. I was a young policeman intent on defending the nation against the “rooi gevaar” (Communist invasion). Those were dark days. I was swept up in the almost religious like fevor of nationalism. Just like everyone else. I was fiercely patriotic and I genuinely though I was doing the right thing.
While laying in bed, listening to the sounds of Soweto, I remembered.
The next morning at 4am Innocent woke me up. Breakfast was ready. We ate quickly because it was a long trek to the train station. I was going back to Joburg and I was going to travel by train. Innocent and I left for the station and had to break into a slow jog because we were running late. We arrived at the station and bought my ticket. We said our goodbyes and I climbed the stairs to platform number 2. What a sight. There were literally thousands of people on the platform waiting for the train. I have never seen such a mass of people at a train station.
There was shouting and singing and selling and it was just totally overwhelming. For a typical Afrikaner boytjie like me, this was mind numbing. All of a sudden everyone started running to the other side of the platform. I didn’t know why and only later realised it’s because they never know on which railway line the train is going to arrive. So when they see the train arriving they have to move to the correct line. I ran with them. The train pulled in. There were people peeling out of the doors, people on the roof and in between the carriages. It was surreal. I was standing back, waiting to see what was going to happen because there was a huge crowd in front of the one door. The doors opened and the crowd pushed forward like a wave as bodies pushed up against each other.
I had no idea how all these people were going to get on the train. Impossible I thought, but most of them did. They squeezed and pushed and pushed some more. Eventually I was in the middle of the thriving thong of bodies pushing and I was pushed into the train. Many couldn’t get on but they helped to push the others in.
In the train I was standing with my hands pinned to my sides, chest to chest and face to face with a crowd of people. Squashed together like jalapenos in a jar. It was difficult to breathe. I tried to look around but couldn’t move my neck more than 90 degrees. I immediately noticed how relaxed everyone was. I was the only one freaking out. They did this every day. It was kak hot in that train and I was sweating like a pig.
The train started to move and I really didn’t think I was going to survive the trip. I was either going to die of asphyxiation or I was going to fall down and trampled to death. I imagined that no-one would ever find my body. Destined to travel from Soweto to Joburg and back for eternity.
Then the singing started. It was incredible and took my mind off my desperate thoughts. If you’re claustrophobic don’t ever try this. The singing grew louder and the sides of the train were used as impromptu drums. The beat was hypnotic. The singing was out of this world. I noticed then that all the people in the carriage were Zulu. I found out later that Zulus and Xhosas don’t travel in the same carriages. There is intense tribal and cultural conflict between them and they stick to themselves. They just don’t mingle.
The food vendors were moving around the carriage, under people and sometimes climbing over them. They travel these trains every day and all day selling cigarettes, sandwiches and sweets.
Then the smell hit me. Joints were being passed around and everyone was smoking dagga (cannabis).The smoke spread thought the carriage until I couldn’t see a thing. The singing became louder and louder and the drums kept the rhythm. I was in a daze. It was an incredible experience. I don’t have the skill to communicate the sensory experience of standing in that train, stuffed full of people, singing with one voice.
We arrived in Park Station and climbed off the train. I think I breathed properly for the first time since the start of the journey and stood on the platform for at least ten minutes trying to focus my mind. The crowds rushed past me while I tried to make sense of the past hour.
It was then that I realized that the cultural gap between white people and black people is enormous. In fact it’s a chasm so wide that it will be nearly impossible to cross. The differences between us are fundamental and very deeply rooted in long and colorful, divergent histories.
It was there, at Park Station that I realized that I could truly appreciate another culture but that I am what I am. I am not black. I am not an African. No matter that this is the country of my birth, I am nothing but an immigrant. I will never be an African and I will never be accepted as an African, by the indigenous Africans.
The white people that think that because their ancestors came to Africa a few hundred years ago that makes them Africans are delusional. We are Europeans living in Africa. It’s really as simple as that. We can live here and contribute here and we can even make a difference here, but we are not from here.
Once you make that mind shift it becomes easier to understand. Stop trying to turn black people into Europeans. They are not. Stop measuring them against your own expectations. Our genetics are European. That is where we belong.
I am not African. I am a European living in Africa.
The whole affair was almost surreal. It was supposed to be full of pomp and ceremony and a celebration of one of the most important events in the history of our democracy. Few items on the national calendar are more important than elections. It was the night that our democracy would be celebrated as the results of the 2016 Municipal Elections were revealed.
It started out slow. A kind of melancholy hung over the audience. Oupa Gwede was stumbling around in his WWII era coat whispering in this ear and that ear. Shuffling up and down the aisles, purposeless. The dignitaries were seated. The big game breeder sat down with a look of utter displacement on his face. It was like he was attending some ceremony in a foreign country listening to people speak in some foreign language. No doubt he would rather have been at home counting his billions while sipping 1962 Dalmore Single Highland Malt at $20,000 a bottle.
Chief Justice Mogoeng Mogoeng sat silently to the right of the big game breeder with eyes almost shut. Perhaps thinking that if he can’t see them, then they can’t see him. He faked a yawn. In fact everything was fake.
The Big Kahuna floated in with an entourage the size of Gadaffi’s minus the Amazonian warrior women. Another fake smile and the big cheese sat down next to the Last Fallen Saviour turned big game breeder and Bon Viveur.
The speeches rambled on and the bleakness swallowed the hall like the black mist over the Thames.
The chief philanderer stepped up to the stage and cleared his throat. And then it happened. Four women dressed in black stood up in front of Zuma and faced the audience with simple, hand written signs to protest against his acquittal of rape 10 years ago. It was a silent protest. A very powerful protest. Probably the most powerful protest in the history of modern politics that will be talked about for many years to come.
The big cheese continued demonstrating his masterful oratory skills unwittingly. He didn’t know what this was all about, but to be fair, he seldom knows what is happening around him as demonstrated by the klap he got in these elections.
The women stood directly in front of our beloved big game whiskey drinker and our almost asleep (faking it) Chief Justice. They looked at these women in utter disbelief. Whispers were everywhere. No one even really noticed the red overall clad cleaning crew leaving the house.
No one even really noticed the red overall clad cleaning crew leaving the house.
In minutes the speech was over and if you had to ask anyone afterwards if they could remember one word the Zuma said, you wouldn’t find one. All eyes were on these brave women with their impromptu display of courage. It will be a defining moment in the career of – no, not JZ but Cyril Ramaphosa. Our second in charge.
It was the moment when his utter lack of leadership skills was exposed. The moment when the whole world realized that this eunuch left his balls in a jar at Nkandla. It was the moment when a real leader would have stood up and taken charge of a truly disastrous situation by quietly interrupting the speech and then by approaching the women and spoken to them. A true leader would have told them that their protest had been noticed and that he would be glad to meet with them personally to discuss their grievances.
The world has witnessed a Putinesque reactionary response in the gaping void left by the absence of true leadership.
A true leader would have quietly walked them out, showing real interest in their story. A true leader would have done the right thing. Instead a bunch of thugs rounded them up like cattle and pushed and shoved them out, in full view of the entire world. A defining moment where true leadership could have made all the difference. The world has witnessed a Putinesque reactionary response in the gaping void left by the absence of true leadership.
There was not one leader in the house. Perhaps he walked out with the cleaning staff.
Let me introduce you to one of South Africa’s most vile citizens, Mr. Andre M Slade, the owner of the Sodwana Bay Guest House. This guy has a few screws loose and it seems the lift does not go all the way to the top. Seriously Andre M Slade, why don’t you just emigrate to Somalia or something? We don’t need scum like you in our country.
Cape Town – Following the most recent online exposé of racism in South Africa – this time involving the Sodwana Bay Guest House’s refusal to accept black patrons – the Democratic Alliance (DA) on Thursday spoke out, castigating both the guesthouse owner and all others guilty of discrimination.
“I wish to use this opportunity to state again that racism, and its bedfellows – homophobia, sexism, and religious intolerance – have no place in our democratic society,” said DA leader Mmusi Maimane.
Andre Slate, the owner of Sodwana Bay Guest House, stated in an email that they “do not accommodate blacks or government employees any longer”.
Andre Slate is not only a religious fanatic but also a unapologetic racist. People like him should not be allowed to own or run a tourism business in South Africa.
“These incidents undermine and derail the difficult yet necessary project of building a fair and reconciled South Africa.”
Maimane was responding to news of Sodwana Bay Guest House owner André Slade’s admission his accommodation would no longer accept “blacks or government employees”. Slade – a self-proclaimed segregationist – was replying to a booking request for 12 people from a Sizakele Msimango.
Following Slade’s refusal, Msimango took to social media to make public the guesthouse’s bigoted policy. Soon after, over 5 000 users were discussing “Sodwana Bay Guest House” on Facebook while related tweets continued to be posted throughout the day.
Since, the South African Human Rights Commission (SAHRC) has confirmed it will investigate the matter which Maimane welcomed, saying that should the SAHRC “act expeditiously”, it would “send a clear message to racists and those who engage in racist behaviour that their harmful and hateful actions are not welcome in South Africa”.
The Star newspaper also acted on Msimango’s posting on Thursday, calling Slade to hear his side of the story. With this opportunity, Slade confirmed his position on the matter, adding that the South African Constitution was “Satan’s law”.
Separate, later attempts to contact Slade and his colleagues were unsuccessful as all known numbers were unavailable.
Aside from his most recent racist rantings, Slade has previously spewed his views online, on his blog “wheretofromhere.org”. Here, Slade made mention of Maimane, calling him a “beast” and “little bastard”.
Slade has also released a free-to-download book, “Where to from here”, which was co-authored by Slade’s “equal opposite” Katarina Križáni, the guesthouse manager.
The Pretoria-born 52-year-old Slade and the 27-year-old Slovak Križáni are allegedly believers in – among other alternative systems – the Ancient Mesopotamian myth of Inanna and Enki which forms the basis of their thoughts on race and civilisation.
I sincerely hope that every right thinking and decent South African distance themselves from this kind of atrocious behavior. We don’t have any place in South Africa for people like this.
By now we all understand the concept of white privilege and white capital. Every second article in the press are about these two topics, and although it’s important to talk about these things it’s much more important to find solutions to our economic woes. There is huge disparity. Nobody can deny that. The majority of South Africans still live in poverty after 22 years of democracy.
The problem is how to fix it. The victim-hood narrative is not achieving anything. In fact it is polarizing our nation even more along racial lines. The constant appeals for a deeper social understanding of the psyche of black and whites is not going to bear any fruit in the short term. There are white racists and there are black racists. It will take many, many years to change the hearts and minds of racists. It won’t happen in my lifetime.
What can happen though is the exponential upliftment of the poor. This can happen. Look what Japan achieved after the Second World War. It is possible.
The way that South Africans can win the day, is to channel all this negative and divisive energy into creating a better future. This can only be achieved through economic growth. The first democratically elected government was the first step. The economic upliftment of the country is the second step. It is with this step that the country is failing miserably. The policies of our government are the single most important factor preventing us from achieving the equality most people seek. This sounds very much like the EFF strategy, you think. Far from it. Where the EFF calls for redistribution, I call for wealth creation through capitalism.
Capitalism is not the evil here. White capital is not the enemy here. Instead these could be the tools that can empower and uplift the rest of the country. But instead of using it effectively, blacks want to tear it down and destroy it, because it represents all that is evil.
It is exactly here that I have a problem with the mind-set of many black people. The calls for redistribution and the policies of the current government are at the core of the problem. You cannot economically uplift an entire nation by robbing Peter to pay Paul. You can sit in a hundred seminars and not achieve a thing unless you address the core issue.
Money is the core issue.
Access to proper education is the key. But what is the government doing? It’s a disaster. Schools are in disarray. Education is a total mess. How can we even hope to grow economically if we don’t have the skilled labor force to do the work effectively? How can we grow businesses without trained and skilled leaders?
Create businesses. Create entrepreneurs. Thousands of them. First educate them and then give them access to capital. White money will be invested in black businesses if those businesses will succeed. At the moment they don’t succeed. They can’t get funding because they don’t have any skills. They don’t have the knowledge and training to run businesses effectively. It’s understandable that they don’t succeed. Black entrepreneurs cannot get access to funding. Even highly skilled and trained black entrepreneurs are not able to get funding, because it is not a priority of the government. Change that and we will have tens of thousands of businesses in SA that thrive and compete internationally and, most importantly, create employment and economically uplift the masses.
Economic upliftment happens when we earn money and we are able to lift ourselves out of our circumstance. As unpalatable as it may sound, if blacks took all the white capital tomorrow and chased every single white person into the ocean, within a few years most of the money will be gone and any chance of a wealthy future for this country will be lost. Not because blacks are somehow incapable, but because they do not have the experience and training of “white privilege”. We now need to “create” instead of just consuming.
This can be done in my lifetime. There is nothing that will uplift the moral of black people as much as financial independence. And that is the crux of the matter. Blacks can complain about the past and about the inequalities and about white privilege for years to come, but that in itself will not change anything.
We need to become competitive and the current socialist attitudes of our leaders need to be replaced by hard-core capitalist motivation – for the good of the nation.
In this world there are many injustices. Black South Africans are not the only ones that have had a tough time. The Jews and Japanese are prime examples of people that fought economically instead of militarily. Their battle was to create wealth and employment. They won because their leaders had the political will to drive the correct agenda and they had a workable strategy. But their strategy was not redistribution but sustainable economic growth through business.
We can do the same. We need intelligent, educated and savvy black people to stand up and drive the economic agenda.
Capitalism is not the great evil. It’s the great savior.
I say ‘unashamedly’ because sometimes we are made to feel as if were not allowed to be happy. With all the unhappy people around us we are made to feel guilty about our own happiness – as if it’s our fault that we’re happy, and that by showing and expressing our happiness, we are somehow bragging or attempting to make other people feel bad about their circumstances.
What a crock of nonsense. It’s peoples own weltschmerz that is defining their perceptions about happy people. Their reality is defined by their distorted view of ‘how things should be’, instead of the reality that nothing is ever perfect. No relationship is perfect and no person is perfect. That ‘perfect’ partner that you fantasize about does not exists, sorry. Maybe in a Disney movie, but not here on earth.
So what makes a couple happy? What are the ingredients for happiness in a relationship?
RespectRespect for yourself firstly, and then respect for your partner. Many people respect their partners but not themselves. When you look in the mirror what do you see? Someone that your partner can respect? Someone that your partner can look up to and be proud of? If not, then you have to become respectable. If you don’t then it means you don’t respect your partner.
Be the person you want your partner to beStop trying to change your partner. Just be what you want your partner to be. Be the kind of person that he or she would look up to and respect. Stop trying to change your partner. Stop trying to live your life vicariously through your partner. Look inward first, before you look outward.
Unconditional loveBig words, but very important. Unconditional love means just that. It’s not some meme on Facebook. It’s real. But what does it mean? It means that you love your partner with all their faults and shortcomings. You love without condition and demands.
You love them for who they are, not for what you want them to become.
Learn to spend time with yourselfBoy oh boy, but some people can be demanding. They are so scared to be left alone that they can only be happy if they are the center of attention. It’s because they cannot stand being in their own company. Find a hobby or read a book. Go for long walks – alone. Learn to spend time with yourself because if you can’t then your partner will be smothered and suffocated by your constant needyness. Space and time is very important in a relationship. You need to be able to do your own thing, and you need to be able to give your partner the time and space to be alone.
If your happiness is dependent on the attention you get, your relationship will fail.
Don’t sweat the small stuffHave you ever seen these small arguments start? Perhaps about the dirty spoon that was left on the table? It starts as a banal argument and then escalates into a full-blown nuclear war. Thinking back on all the arguments, almost all of them started with stupid, insignificant disagreements. Almost all of them escalated into the third world war. This can easily be avoided by not sweating the small stuff. It takes two to tango and one person can not have an argument on their own. It’s your choice if you want to participate in the fight or not.
Ask yourself this question when the tensions rise: “Will it make any difference in my life if I don’t argue about this?”
Laugh and laugh and then laugh some moreLaughter cures everything. You can’t be unhappy while laughing. Make each other laugh, often. Be silly. Be spontaneous.
Your partner must be your best friendI think this is the most important aspect of a happy relationship. If your partner is your best friend then you will be able to spend time in each others company without getting bored. Friendship in a partnership is more important than love. Love means nothing if you’re not best friends. Best friends talk about everything and anything.
Best friends forgive and make up, they don’t get divorced.