Making a Scene

by Constance Wu

She’ll always be my sister. And I’m not scared of losing her anymore, because I realize she was never mine to begin with. Her life is her own. She should have an inner life and friendships that I am not a part of, and will never be a part of, the way I now have those things for myself too. I guess that’s what growing up is.

But… she didn’t judge me; she laughed! What a relief it was to share something bad about myself and still be loved! Her laugh took the shame out of it.

the world often mocks sincerity and commitment—especially in Hollywood. There are entire genres of comedy devoted to ridiculing passionate people.

New York City could make you feel invincible, like any shit you were given rolled right back to the shit giver, and the same thing happened with love. The love that pulsed through the city was built on aggression: I give it to you, because I know you can take it. Because we’re both here.

By now, I imagine he’s married to an adoring wife who’d be shocked by my account, insisting as someone who knows him, I know he’d never do something like that. He is not that kind of person. As if the way someone treats you personally is the way they treat everyone.

But everything and everyone is lovable to someone, even if it doesn’t make sense from the outside. Love is not something earned through merit. It’s something that happens with time. Even with the humans I’ve loved, that’s what it often boils down to: time. All that stuff at the beginning of the relationship, the thrills and passion and attraction and drama… sure, that’s wonderful, and I’ve called that love before. But real things don’t have shortcuts. Those sublime whirlwind weeks often feel like love, but real love doesn’t truly happen until the wind dies down and everything becomes a little plain. That takes time.

I chuckle when I think of how my dreams used to be so big. Little did I know how much better the small things would be: The plain beauty of the breakfast table—my daughter’s two-toothed grin, food on her face and all over the floor. Every new thing, a discovery. Watching her grow has been the greatest pleasure I’ve known.

There are no shortcuts for the true things in life. You have to sit through the discomfort. Sometimes, you have to sit through it for a very, very long time.

wouldn’t have gotten it if it hadn’t been for Mom. It wasn’t because she wanted me to be an actress; she just wanted me to be happy. For her, that was all that mattered. We could play in the dirt, wear rags, not bathe, skip homework, eat crap—so long as we were happy, that’s what she cared about.