Week 14: Are they really surface-level friendships or just close acquaintances?

• Believing someone is your friend because of some small talk about the weather is not just naive—it is dangerous. It sets you up for a perpetual, melancholic disappointment, a cycle in which you continually project intimacy onto people who are not equipped—or willing—to reciprocate. You find yourself clinging to scraps of kindness, to moments that felt genuine at the time but, upon reflection, were transactional at best.

• In this age of curated social media feeds and instant messaging, the lines between acquaintance and friend have blurred to the point of erasure. A “friend” is someone who likes your posts, who replies with a heart emoji when you share good news, and who tags you in memes. But these digital gestures, while pleasant, are not substitutes for the kind of intimacy that friendship demands. It is confessing to someone the grudge you hold for your old high school, it is sending and sharing things so that we can talk about it. It is being there for a friend even when they’re feeling down, not when they win something and you suddenly remember you want to hang out despite being in the same town as them when you come back from your uni. Friendship is inconvenient. It requires time, effort, and vulnerability. It cannot be reduced to a series of likes on a screen or a string of surface-level conversations at happy hour.

• I feel a particular irritation when someone declares they have “several best friends,” as if the word best can somehow bend itself into a plural. The entire premise of a “best friend” is singularity, the idea that this person stands apart from the rest, occupying a space no one else can claim. To dilute that with multiple contenders feels like a betrayal of language itself, an erosion of what it means to have a bond so unique, so irreplaceable, that it stands alone. When someone says they have eight or nine “best friends,” I can’t help but suspect they don’t truly understand the meaning of the term, and its implication of exclusivity, and unparalleled closeness. It reduces something rare into a participation trophy for every person who happens to stick around.

• I also can’t help but feel a mix of amusement and disdain when people repeatedly say, “Sorry for not being able to hang out,” knowing full well they’re not sorry—they just don’t want to. It’s a script, a polite deflection meant to soften the blow of indifference, but it only makes their lack of authenticity more glaring. I’ve seen it happen time and time again—people returning to Dunedin from universities scattered across New Zealand, finding endless time for everyone else, yet somehow being perpetually “busy” when it comes to me. What’s most telling is how quickly their selective acknowledgement shifts the moment I achieve something—suddenly, I exist again, worthy of their attention, a “friend” they want to claim as their own. It’s amusing in the way all hollow performances are, but also a reminder that their friendship is conditional, contingent on my success rather than any genuine regard for who I am.

• There is self-preservation in being deliberate about whom you call a friend. It shields you from the disappointment of misplaced expectations, from the heartbreak of realising that someone you thought you could rely on sees you as disposable. It allows you to invest your time and energy in relationships that are reciprocal and meaningful, rather than scattering them across a sea of superficial connections. The word, friend is not just a label; it is a commitment. It is a promise to show up, to care, to be interested, and to invest in another person’s happiness, well-being and life. It is not a word to be thrown around lightly for fun, nor is it one to be withheld out of fear. It is, simply, a word that deserves respect.

• Stop calling everyone your friend. Stop mistaking politeness for connection, small talk for intimacy, and smiles for loyalty. Save the word for those who have earned it, for those who have proven they care about you. When you do find those people, hold onto them tightly. In this world, true friendship is the most valuable currency of all.

"Our confusion about what we mean when we use the word “love” is the source of our difficulty in loving. If our society had a commonly held understanding of the meaning of love, the act of loving would not be so mystifying."

"When the very meaning of the word is cloaked in mystery, it should not come as a surprise that most people find it hard to define what they mean when they use the word “love.” Imagine how much easier it would be for us to learn how to love if we began with a shared definition. The word “love” is most often defined as a noun, yet all the more astute theorists of love acknowledge that we would all love better if we used it as a verb.”

"Definitions are vital starting points for the imagination. What we cannot imagine cannot come into being. A good definition marks our starting point and lets us know where we want to end up. As we move toward our desired destination we chart the journey, creating a map. We need a map to guide us on our journey to love—starting with the place where we know what we mean when we speak of love."

"To begin by always thinking of love as an action rather than a feeling is one way in which anyone using the word in this manner automatically assumes accountability and responsibility.”

• “If you’re like me, the thing you fear most is abandonment, and the thing you avoid most is putting yourself in a position where that might happen. And so you do everything you can to become self-reliant, you organize your life around independence, you develop an exhaustive list of practices to manage your own psychology. All of which are good things on their own. But I’m starting to wonder if, rather than avoiding helplessness at all costs, rather than fearing the day that I finally fall apart and truly need someone else, I can welcome such a day. I can think of it as “the beginning”, rather than thinking of it as “the end”. Because yes, sometimes friends witness you in such a moment and they walk away. But the right people will see you in your weakness and they’ll come and sit next to you. They will hold your hand and they’ll tell you, not with their words but with their actions: This is the moment at which I could abandon you. And I won’t.”

• “The fact that our friendship has survived moments like this is what gives me so much ease around him, it’s what assures me that I can be fully myself. A lot of people think of vulnerability as “sharing personal facts about yourself”, but this is the easiest kind of vulnerability. Serious vulnerability is not just talking about how you were struggling at some point, or that you were overwhelmed with emotion previously but are fine now—it’s sharing these things as they are happening, expressing your anger and anxiety and sadness while you still haven’t resolved them.”

• “We are taught, subtly but persistently, that wonder is childish, that it belongs to a version of ourselves we must leave behind to become serious, responsible adults. I’ve come to believe that losing our wonder is one of the greatest tragedies of growing up. It’s not just that we stop seeing the world as magical; it’s that we stop seeing ourselves as capable of magic. We accept the limits imposed on us, internalise the rules of a game we never agreed to play. We stop asking “Why is the sky blue?” or “What if?” Curiosity is often the antidote to so much of what ails us. It is the thing that allows us to connect, to innovate, to find meaning in the mundane. It is the impulse that drives art and science, love and rebellion. It is a wild, untamed part that is fundamental to us.”

• “We must remain curious because of the world’s beauty and chaos, heartbreak and joy. We must acknowledge that we do not, cannot, have all the answers and that the questions are more important anyway. Curiosity is not without its costs. Asking questions means risking the discomfort of not knowing, and the vulnerability of admitting ignorance. We challenge the narratives we have constructed, to confront the possibility that we’ve been wrong. It is, in its way, a kind of madness—a refusal to accept the world as it is, a determination to see it as it might be.”

• “The world will continue to harden against us. That is its nature. It will tell us to be practical, to be realistic, to colour inside the lines. We must resist. We must remain curiouser and curiouser, even when it feels foolish, even when it feels impossible. We must follow the white rabbit, not because we know where it will lead, but because we don’t. Following, asking and wondering, is what keeps us thriving in the best way. To be curious is to be alive. To lose our wonder is to lose a part of our humanity. When the world tells us to stop questioning, to stop chasing the impossible, we must remember Alice. We must remember the rabbit hole. We must dive in, headfirst, without hesitation, trusting the fall will take us somewhere worth going.”

• “A good, fulfilling friendship requires proximity and effort. Requires you to come in, remove your shoes, and plop your leg on the couch like you own the house. Cry, talk, argue, and sometimes, walk around naked, baring the most vulnerable parts of you.”

• “All of the best things in life require a degree of embarrassment, or at least the possibility of it. Dancing, singing, sharing art, cooking food, having sex, holding hands; there is risk in it all. You could burn dinner or sing off key; no act of self expression or love is exempt from this danger. Embarrassment is scary because rejection is scary, failing is scary, judgment is scary and we have learned to equate all of these experiences to something bad. Because of this, we all too often find ourselves feigning apathy to avoid embarrassment: what you don’t care about can’t hurt you, right? To some degree, that is very true. The only way to live a life without embarrassment is to simply not care about your actions or how others perceive them, to always have your guard up and play your cards close to your chest. A life that sounds, frankly, terrible. Being cool and disinterested and unaffected by the world is a bleak existence, like living near a river that you never swim in. Of course, not all embarrassment feels worth it; some double texts get left on read and sometimes you wave at someone in a crowd who never ends up seeing you, but in many ways these are the only embarrassments that truly matter. These acts of earnestness that remain unrequited show us something sort of beautiful about ourselves. Heat blooms in our cheeks and our stomachs tie themselves in knots because we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable, to be honest, to risk getting a tiny bit hurt in the process.”

• “And that’s okay. I don’t think life has to constantly be a game of strategy; there is no prize at the end of all of this for whoever cared the least. You have nothing to lose by showing your hand, and everything to gain from being sincere.”

• “Doesn’t it feel so thrilling to try hard and fail anyways, to care so much and get hurt regardless, to reach out and be ignored? Embarrassment is inevitable. Embarrassment is fun. Wearing strange outfits and doing karaoke and falling in love is fun, and none of those things come free. And if embarrassment is what it costs to live a full, earnest, and beautiful life, then so be it.”

• There are many trailheads to meaning, but I believe one route is giving yourself the permission to take what you care about seriously. No matter how small. But first, you need to parse what matters to you and admit that it matters.

• Desire is embarrassing. Admitting that you want to improve on some measure of subjective quality or taste means admitting that you might fail to meet it. Rupturing your own standard is the necessary price of pursuit.

• When you meet someone with devotion and care for their craft, they have thinner barriers between their soul and the external world. Their soul shines lightly on the surface of their being.

• When I say seriousness I don’t mean rigidity but a deep engagement with life and creation. I believe caring deeply about something lastingly alters your cognition. Sit in lectures on things you never learned in school. Research and adjust every ingredient in the recipe in an attempt to get to the perfect flavor and texture. Build a rose garden. Teach yourself how to build something from scratch; not to achieve perfection, but to be closer to the foundational fabric of the act of making itself. Own your own heat signature. Your indelible effortful mark on the world, a little imprint in the clay.

• The answer to how to approach your twenties lies between Plath and Didion. Everything you do is irrevocable, because time is finite, which means your choices matter. So you have to choose a fig. You cannot sit “in the crotch of this fig tree starving to death.” But choosing one fig does not cause all the others to instantly fall from the tree. If you realize you’ve chosen the wrong fig—and I mean as soon as you realize, because your twenties are shorter than you think—go back to the tree and pluck another. And another. And another. Until you’ve found the right one. With each successive fig, you will learn more about what you want and don’t want, and you will get closer to the right fig. I am not saying pick a fig you know isn’t right, because it will be fun or easy and you can always pick more.2 I am saying finding the right fig might take a long time, so you need to start picking thoughtfully right away. You need to be honest with yourself about the choices you’ve made and whether they’re working for you. Each time you select a new fig, you need to ask yourself what you want from your life.

• maybe you’ve heard the saying that discipline is the highest form of self-love. i agree, but i would take it a step further and say that devotion is the highest form of self-reverence. devotion is what transforms discipline from a rigid obligation into a deeply personal commitment—one rooted in care, intention, and an attentive understanding of your own needs. while self-love is the foundation, self-reverence is the elevation—the act of honoring yourself so fully that your choices become a reflection of your highest self.

• balance isn’t about choosing one over the other, but allowing and making space for coexistence: softness and strength, discipline and grace, effort and flow. practicing daily movement (especially yoga) allows me the opportunity to unite my mind, body and spirit and reconnect with my vessel.

• because at the end of the day, baddie- you cannot hate yourself into a version of you that you love.

• what does it mean to have self-reverence? it’s the deep, unwavering respect you hold for yourself—not just in moments of success, but in the quiet, unglamorous choices you make every day. it’s a step beyond self-love because it’s not just about self-care; it’s about honoring yourself at the highest level. it means setting boundaries and keeping them, because you know you deserve to. it’s choosing rest without guilt, nourishment without punishment, and growth without self-criticism.

• But sometimes, the pain we feel in life is not from people holding us back, but our own inability to deal with their indifference.3 In other words: no one is out to get you. They just don’t care that much.

• The great, never-ending war is within yourself. With every decision we make, we bring ourselves a little bit closer to what’s good for us, or a little bit closer to what’s bad for us. The sun rises every day, no matter how tired we are. And every day, we drag the same body out of bed and look at the same face in the mirror. It’s not you against the world; it’s you against yourself.

• If we choose to romanticize our suffering and isolate ourselves, we hold ourselves back. Do not delude yourself: this is a choice. In every moment of our lives, we can choose to close our hearts or open them.

• It’s hard not to feel scattered when you’re always chasing after something new. It’s like you’re perpetually searching for the thing that will define you. And yet, that search never really ends.

• The more I sit with this thought, the more I understand: You don’t need to stop wanting. You just need to prioritize. There is time to do all the things you want to do. Time doesn’t wait, but it doesn’t vanish the second you think you’ve missed your chance.

• You can have it all. Just not all at once.

• The new book is “about many things,” Adichie said. “It’s about thinking about the other lives that we might have led. Sometimes, even when we’re content in our own lives, we still imagine other paths that our destiny could have taken us on. And I think it’s also about knowing about how much one knows oneself, about how much one knows other people.”

• “I found myself thinking about what love is, and one of my conclusions is that to love a person is to attempt to know them. But at the same time, I think we’re limited by how much we can, in fact, know even ourselves. The fact that we that we can surprise ourselves is just endlessly fascinating to me.”

• She added: “When it comes to fiction, the whole point of it is that you have to let go. You have to be willing to go wherever it takes you. That I think, is the fundamental requirement of writing good fiction — a certain kind of truth, a certain kind of, what I like to call radical honesty.”

• So when I say I want to be like Solange, I don’t mean famous or iconic, though she is both. I mean free.

• As much as I want to give in and let others take the lead on fixing our government, history shows that nothing will change until the people push back.

• Social media often fuels the outrage cycle of outrage that is both polarizing and misleading. Sharing posts or commenting on things you dislike online is not a replacement for real action.

• Take time to seek joy and remember why you’re fighting; it will keep you motivated on this journey we are all unwittingly experiencing.

• i have often been accused of being too intense. of reading too much, of knowing too much on an obscure topic, of getting too excited when i talk about a newfound hobby. i have also seen passionate friends being accused of the same, their joy and exuberance being mistaken for pretention. but finding a new obsession, a new hobby, a new project, is the best feeling in the world. your life is suddenly filled with new possibilities; what can you make, what can you research, where can you go, whom can you meet? everything feels new, and everything feels more exciting. the old routine is out the door, boredom no longer exists, suddenly there are not enough hours in the day and you can’t wait to wake up in the morning and get started again.

• “the habits of successful people” can be summarised like this: they get obsessed. scratch that. the habits of happy people. because you’re never happier, never more excited than when you devote yourself to a new passion project.

• passions should be explored no matter if they make sense or not. and sure, perhaps your beautiful house in the sims won't pay your rent, and none of your friends even know you write fanfiction, but happiness still counts for something in this life.

• obsession should not be mocked, but celebrated. and it should not always be about making money, or growing a business, or finding a suitable career. obsession is personal. for me it might mean diving into the history of religious horror. for you it might be finally filling your garden with flowers and bees. maybe these words will inspire someone to go to Antarctica.

• I want to be beautiful—the kind that lives forever in mythologies and novels and wet dreams behind closed eyes, like perfume soaked into the fibers of clothing days later. The kind that makes poets and artists shed big, opalescent tears.

• I don’t want to be cute. I don’t want to be sweet. I want to be beautiful and I want beauty that tilts the world in my favor, making people ache without them knowing why. I want beauty that’s electrifying, the kind that makes you feel like you’re being burned alive all along your nerves.

• I want the perfect body, not for function but for worship. I'm not just moisturizing, I'm conducting a seance to resurrect my glow. 10 hours of sleep, Pilates, and beef bone broth—my routine is a shrine to transformations, a cocoon for the butterfly. Moony eyes muddied with brown mascara, thin white shirts that blur the shape of breasts, mismatched studs on the fat lobes of ears, lipstick-stained teeth like pinkish poker chips, I want to be messy and still be adored.

• I want to be your muse, your sickness, your obsession, your undoing—light of your life, fire in your loins, your sin, your soul. I want my existence to feel like a punishment to anyone who does not have me, and a wound to anyone who does—tender, red, and impossible to look away from. I want to throb under your skin, to make the rest of them jealous.

• I sit here watching the people of Palestine die in gruesome ways over the past year,watching videos of thousands of people displaced from their homes and lives, over and over again and instead of those images/videos striking me like it did the first time I saw them, seeing them sensationalised has left me strangely numb. Exhausted. It feels like I’ve reached the end of empathy. Susan Sontag articulates it best: “To suffer is one thing; another thing is living with the photographed images of suffering, which does not necessarily strengthen conscience and the ability to be compassionate. It can also corrupt them. Once one has seen such images, one has started down the road of seeing more — and more. Images transfix. Images anesthetize.”

• There’s a certain type of adult I want to grow up to be that isn’t compatible with a continued existence on online spaces like Twitter and TikTok. I want to grow up divorced from social media . I don’t want my still-developing brain, my still-developing moral compass, to be tainted or influenced by an inundation of information that does little to serve me. I am an incredibly curious person and I love learning, so deleting TikTok especially, a source of wonderful joy and knowledge to me, felt like amputating a left limb. Then I reminded myself that reading exists. Long-form content like YouTube video essays, podcasts and Substack posts exist. I will be fine.

• I want to embrace slow living. I want to tamp down my inclination to overshare. Silence, they say, is golden. Still waters run deep. I want to read more, to study the world more, to write more. I want to move around the world with a head clear from the fog of social media and its trials. I want to, as the kids say, touch grass — to give life a rigorous try, to breathe of the air deeply, to exist in the context of all in which I live and what came before me.

• The scariest part is that half the time, it’s not even real outrage. It’s performative. In fact, performative outrage is the new trend. Most people aren’t angry because they care. They’re angry because they need to be seen caring. They need to be part of the noise, even if they haven’t thought it through. And it’s exhausting. This performative passion. It’s almost like we are stuck in a loop; arguing, reposting, canceling, clapping, clapping back, and barely… thinking.

• Our world has always profited from conformity. It’s why those who don’t always conform are deemed the ‘weird ones.’ However, now is the time when you need to choose to think for yourself. It is an act of resistance. It’s okay to pause. To ask questions. To sit with your own thoughts before reacting. It’s okay to be unsure, to disagree, to change your mind after reflection. You also need to understand that supporting a cause doesn't mean the death of independent thinking.

• Don’t get me wrong. Community is important and belonging is beautiful. We all want to feel like we’re a part of something. But there’s a thin line between community and conformity. And many of us have crossed it without even realizing it.

• So yeah, learn to think for yourself. Protect your mind the way you protect your phone. Don’t let everything in. Shut out the noise and truly think. Make sure your beliefs are deeply rooted in what you genuinely hold valuable. Yes, there’s power in being rooted in your own voice. So pause before you clap. Pause before you drag. Pause before you echo someone else’s thoughts. Refuse to be spoon-fed your thoughts.