I never understood why people were afraid of being basic. Normal. Average. I never understood it when people in movies were fighting to be unique. I never got it: why do you want to be seen? I thought those who could blend into the background were lucky. That’s how you survive elementary, middle, and high school.
When someone called me basic in grade nine, it was meant as an insult, but to me, that was the best compliment anyone could give me. That’s the year I started straightening my hair every day, discovered Aritzia (which I still love—if there is one near me, my bank account will suffer), and tried to make myself smaller (both morphologically and vocally). I had just changed schools and wanted a good reputation. Believe me, being the allergy kid and the IEP kid alongside having big hair and helicopter parents does not lead to having a lot of friends.
Did this stint at trying to be basic work for me? Absolutely not. It failed miserably. I had no friends. However, the thing about having no friends in the midst of a global pandemic is that you spend a lot of time getting to know yourself and your personal tastes. When they say that the music you love at 16 you will never grow out of, they’re not lying. During those long years spent in quarantine, I spent time up in my room listening, reading, and watching what I wanted, when I wanted. I was not worrying about my hair, my weight, or how many friends I had. I was busy worrying about my grades, and frankly, whether or not I or someone I loved was going to get COVID and potentially die.
You stop caring about those last 5 pounds when life gets real.
You couldn’t pay me enough money to be 17 again. I think that was the point in my life when I truly hated myself. I was deeply lonely and felt like no one could understand how I felt. That was stupid—11 others (my IB classmates) were in the exact same boat. I always thought they knew more than I, were smarter than I, were more loved by our teachers than I. I was worried they knew that something was wrong with me. I think that’s why I chose the wrong degree.
When you know it’s time to go,you should go.
That’s how I felt in Winter ‘24, lying on the bathroom floor in Essex Hall,triggered by someone proclaiming, “This is my third time retaking this lab.” I no longer want to be a doctor.
Fall ‘25, and I’m on a new road. People like me. Not sure how that happened. There are girls in a physics program at UofT who like my stories. They think I’m cool. I repeat: girls who attend the most prestigious university in Canada and live in our nation’s biggest city think a commuter student who can’t drive in a mid-sized city is cool. People are nice to me. Novel. I truly and passionately love what I’m studying. I’ve found what makes me happy: helping others. My academics, research, and relationships goals are falling into place. This is happiness. I am happy.
Happiness is a series of growing pains. Happiness doesn’t come from the blade of a straightener, the point of a needle, or a soft stream set. It doesn’t come from a prestigious degree or being everyone’s favourite. It must come from within. You can’t be happy being someone else. Happiness isn’t a pursuit—it’s a process. If you chase the butterfly, it will fly away. Happiness will come when you least expect it—growing pains and all.