A) My roommate, after much whining about having brought all their savings from Iran, refuses to contribute to living expenses. They decide to leave and use the remaining money (which they claimed was their only life savings) to buy clothes and return to Iran. I decide to be more careful from now on.

B) One of my coworkers, due to unforeseen problems, spends all their savings and reaches the end of the line in the last week before payday. I lend them enough to cover at least twice the remaining time. When payday arrives, they happily go to the clothing store. The repayment of my loan is postponed indefinitely. I decide to be much more careful in the future.

C) A close friend asks to borrow money to get a task done and promises to return it the next day. I recall past experiences and warn that I will lend only if they return it exactly when promised. Two days pass, and only after repeated follow-ups do they return it. I have no choice now, only frustration.

This reminds me of a story my father often told me. In a tale attributed to Nasreddin Hodja, a father tells his son to ask the neighbor to lend their donkey (or any animal, stick to the story, brother) for plowing. The son protests, saying the neighbor also needs to plow their field. The father says: “You go ask. If the neighbor is foolish, they’ll lend it; if not, we’ll think of something else.” After the three scenarios above, I imagine myself as that fool who lent out the donkey, confirming all assumptions about my own gullibility.

I once had a pre-university professor named Zadfatah, a 70-year-old world-wise man. He said, if you see someone fallen and about to die, stand over them and deliver a few firm strikes to make sure they’re really dead. Because if they get up, they’ll be the first to come after you. I hope wherever he is, he’s safe and healthy.