Maame

by Jessica George

I realized then that our friendships were not based on loyalty or love but convenience and proximity. I went from a close group of seven to one. Nia.

I almost tell her that fun doesn’t equate to happiness; at the very least, it lends you happiness and I want to know how to keep it. I’ve googled “How to be happy”; I’ve taken walks in the park and written long gratitude lists; I’m consuming more fruits and vegetables and going to bed early; I’ve given out compliments and practiced mindful breathing. I have tried to fix myself.

For some reason, at night, when you’re meant to be sleeping, your brain wants answers to everything.

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that although I didn’t think I’d be rich, I expected to be happy and the failure to do so has left me gasping for air most of the day.

keep family matters private from outsiders but never considered the secrets we were possibly keeping from one another.

Not because I don’t want to see Ben again, I really do, but—and I know you’re going to think, Maddie, I don’t get what the problem is—I need to wash my hair.

“You’re Christian, Shu. Do you always believe in God?” “Yeah, course. Got to.” “Why?” “Because,” she says, “I can’t carry on living believing human beings are as good as it gets.” She looks at me. “We’re the worst.”

Everyone talks about the importance of standing out but never the benefits of fitting in.

It’s about what love is. Which is trust, commitment, empathy, and respect. It means really giving a shit about the other person.”

I wonder if I’m actually happy or just momentarily distracted. Maybe the latter is what happiness looks like for me now.

It means I’ve been slowly falling apart for a very long time and it might take even longer to piece me back together.

There is a right way, a preferred way, for each individual, to love and be loved by someone—but there isn’t only one way.

It cannot be your responsibility, your burden, to reshape people into someone you’d like them to be.