The Problem with Conditional Friends: Do They Exist? (Spoiler: Yes, and They’re Exhausting)

The Problem with Conditional Friends: Do They Exist? (Spoiler: Yes, and They’re Exhausting) #

Let’s ditch the wayang kulit and speak the uncomfortable truth swirling in every lukewarm teh tarik at a gathering you don’t want to be at: Conditional friends aren’t just a Malaysian problem; they’re practically a national pastime. We excel at crafting relationships built on shifting sands of utility, convenience, and carefully calculated social credit. These aren’t friendships; they’re transactional alliances, fragile constructs where loyalty evaporates the moment the perceived benefit dries up or the slightest inconvenience arises. And pretending otherwise? That’s the real bodoh culture.

You know them. The “friend” who materialises only when they need a favour – a job referral, a connection, help moving house, borrowing that fancy baju for a wedding. Poof! Suddenly, you’re their priority, flooded with messages and lepak invitations. The favour secured? Radio silence descends, colder than the air-con in a luxury mall. Until next time. The “Raya/Deepavali/CNY Only” acquaintance. Year after year, they grace your open house with impeccable timing, bearing a modest gift, exchanging stiff pleasantries, consuming mountains of rendang, then vanishing back into the ether until the next mandatory festive checkpoint. There’s no interest in your life, your struggles, your actual existence beyond the ritualistic duit raya exchange. It’s social obligation masquerading as connection, a checkbox exercise in maintaining wajah baik (good face).

Then there’s the Social Climber Chameleon. Their friendship is meticulously calibrated to your perceived status, network, or proximity to power. Land a promotion? Suddenly, you’re fascinating! Lose the job? Watch their enthusiasm dim faster than a kelip-kelip bulb. Their circle is a carefully curated display of “useful” people. You’re either ascending in their estimation or quietly discarded, often without explanation, because your value proposition has changed. It’s exhausting, this constant, unspoken audit of your worth.

Worse are the Fair-Weather Fakers. Life going smoothly? They’re your biggest cheerleaders (or at least, present). Hit a rough patch – illness, financial strain, genuine grief? Cue the deafening silence, the suddenly busy schedules, the vague “thinking of you” messages devoid of actual presence or support. Their friendship thrives only in the sunshine of your success or stability; the slightest storm sends them scrambling for cover. Vulnerability is kryptonite to the conditional friend. They lack the emotional bandwidth, or simply the inclination, to navigate anything real, messy, or demanding. Their support is a performance reserved for audiences, not the backstage chaos of actual life.

Why do we tolerate this? Partly, Malaysian muhibbah culture can pressure us into maintaining superficial harmony, avoiding the “rude” act of calling out fake friendship or setting boundaries. Partly, loneliness in our busy, fragmented lives makes even hollow connections feel better than none. And partly, we’ve normalised it. We joke about “free dinner friends” or “favour friends,” shrugging it off as “Memang macam ini lah” (“That’s just how it is”), mistaking cynicism for wisdom. We confuse a large contact list with genuine community.

But the cost is a profound sense of isolation amidst the crowd. It breeds cynicism, making us hesitant to trust, to open up, to invest authentically in new connections. It wastes our precious emotional energy maintaining relationships that offer no real sustenance, only draining performances and the bitter aftertaste of being used. It cheapens the very concept of friendship, reducing it to a cold calculus of “What can you do for me now?”

Conditional friends exist. Abundantly. The real question is: Why do we keep their seats warm at our table? True friendship – the rare, precious kind – is unconditional in its core commitment. It shows up. It listens, even when it’s boring or hard. It offers support without a ledger. It celebrates your wins without envy and weathers your storms without flinching. It’s messy, demanding, and gloriously real. It doesn’t vanish when your utility dips or your social media engagement wanes.

Stop mistaking convenience for camaraderie. Stop pouring your teh tarik for ghosts who only appear when they’re hungry. Audit your own circle. Be brutally honest. Invest in the few who prove, through action not just festive appearances, that they value you, not just your usefulness or your wajah. It’s terrifyingly vulnerable, yes. But the alternative? A lifetime surrounded by beautifully wrapped empty boxes, wondering why you still feel so profoundly alone at the mamak table full of “friends.” Ditch the conditional crew. Make space for the real ones. They might be fewer, but they’re worth a thousand fair-weather fakes. Your sanity will thank you.