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Ruwaida Abela Northen On ‘Schadenfreude'… Do We Find Comfort In Someone Else's Fail?

Bazaar Arabia columnist Ruwaida Abela Northen on Schadenfreude – the pleasure derived by someone from another person's misfortune. Evil eyes at the ready… There's a certain kind of energy that ripples through a room when someone stumbles. Not literally – though stilettos have betrayed many – but metaphorically. A marriage collapses. A business folds. A perfectly curated life begins to fray at the seams. There's a hush, a murmured 'oh no,' and just beneath it, a flicker. That's schadenfreude. The Germans may have given us the word, but the sentiment? It's always been around. It's the shadow behind the evil eye, the whispered hasad in Arabic, envy dressed up as happiness. Entire cultures have built belief systems around the idea that another's gaze could harm us. But maybe it's not the eye we fear. Maybe it's the image it reflects back. I've been consumed by that thought lately. Wondering how much of what we call 'the evil eye' is actually just our own fear, cloaked in superstition. When we witness someone else's joy, do we truly feel happy for them or do we look for the cracks? And when good fortune comes our way, do we whisper mashallah out of faith, or out of dread? I've been on both ends of it. Heard it in the silence. Felt it in the smiles. Lately, I've found myself caught in a series of unfortunate events. Car accidents. Sudden illnesses. Shattered glass – yes, even the ominous broken mirror. The kind of freak incidents that make you pray, burn bukhoor, and wonder: did I post too much? Did I invite this in? We forget, sometimes, that behind every polished post lies a private mess. That the trips, the dinners, and the picture-perfect moments are stitched together with late nights, tired souls, and prayers muttered between deadlines. There's an Arabic saying that goes, 'hide your candle and it shall stay lit.' It warns us not to talk about our happiness and the good in our lives, so it stays that way. There was a time when I shared my wins quietly, fearing the weight of the unseen eyes. A simple delay or headache became something foreboding – someone else's envy. But somewhere along the way, I began to ask myself, was it really the evil eye, or was it me standing in my own way? Schadenfreude is seductive. It reassures us. See? Even she's not perfect. Even she bleeds. It cushions our own shortcomings. But it's also toxic. To find comfort in someone else's fall is to reveal how deeply we fear our own. Still, I don't dismiss the mystical entirely. There's a reason our mothers hung amulets above our cribs. A reason we knock on wood, salt the corners, and pray before take-off . There are energies we can't name, frequencies we feel in our bones. I believe that protection lies not in charms, but in clarity. In intention. Do I still wear the blue-eye? No, darling – I wear two. But I also do the work. Because I've learned that the antidote to envy is wholeness. When you're full, you don't reach for what spills from someone else's cup. When you're grounded, another's bloom doesn't threaten your own garden. And when someone falls, you give them a hand – not because you must, but because you remember the taste of dust, and how sweet rising can be. Perhaps the world doesn't need less envy. It needs more grace. More truth. More willingness to own the small, bitter parts of ourselves and to meet them with compassion, not shame.