Human Kaleidoscopes?
That's what we are.
The words settled in my spirit, a quiet hum of recognition, like a forgotten melody finally finding its way home. "It's the reason why we have friends for different purposes and they all have assigned positions and levels they are kept at." A profound truth, isn't it? One that, for a long time, I hadn't quite articulated, though I lived it every single day. I commented on a post that resonated with me, and it’s been blowing up. I get a notification every day that someone somewhere can relate to it in some way. That has been so beautiful to see. Here is the beautiful post that sparked it all.
As a young Nigerian woman, navigating America's vibrant, sometimes bewildering, tapestry, this idea of being "different versions of myself with different people" isn't just a social observation; it's a fundamental mode of existence. It's the silent dance between the daughter who calls her mother in Lagos, speaking in a blend of Yoruba and English, discussing family matters with a deference ingrained since birth. It's the ambitious young professional in a bustling American city, code-switching effortlessly between academic jargon and casual slang, her voice modulated, her gestures perhaps a little less expansive than they would be back home. And then, it's the friend, the confidante, the sister-figure, each relationship unlocking a specific chamber of my heart, revealing a particular hue of my soul.
My friends, bless their diverse hearts, are indeed like constellations in my personal sky, each shining with a unique light, illuminating a distinct facet of who I am. There's the friend who knows the weight of immigrant dreams, the unspoken pressure to succeed, the quiet ache of missing home. The torture of working ungodly hours each week. With her, I can shed the veneer of perpetual strength and simply be vulnerable, sharing the anxieties that only another who has walked a similar path can truly understand. Then there's the friend who knows my silly, carefree side, the one who doesn't bat an eyelid when I break into an impromptu terrible rendition of the latest Afrobeats dance in the living room, or when I tell a story punctuated with Nigerian colloquialisms. She "gets" that part of me, revels in it, and makes me feel seen in my joy. I have my clubbers, my kabashers, my alté music lovers, my YouTube movie soldiers, my Godly brethren, and they all reflect the complexity I am.
And then there are the friends who exist in a different orbit entirely, those who know the intellectual, the analytical, the fiercely independent woman. With them, the conversations are about global politics, career aspirations, or the latest book. They don't need to understand the nuances of my cultural background to appreciate the sharpness of my mind or the depth of my convictions. They "stomach" that piece of me, and it's enough.
For so long, I wrestled with this fragmentation. Was I being inauthentic? Was I hiding? The immigrant experience often amplifies this feeling, as you constantly bridge two worlds, two sets of expectations, two versions of "normal." You learn to adapt, to assimilate, to protect certain parts of yourself from misunderstanding or judgment. You learn that not everyone needs, or can even handle, the full spectrum of your being.
But saying those words, "completely being known or understood is something impossible and rare," brought a profound sense of peace. It's not a failing; it's a reality of human connection. We are too vast, too complex, too ever-evolving to be fully contained and comprehended by any single individual, even ourselves at times. And perhaps, that's where the beauty lies.
The beauty is in the mosaic. It's in the comfort of knowing that while no one person holds the entire key to my identity ( except God), collectively, the people in my life hold pieces of the puzzle. They see the vibrant colors, the intricate patterns, and the hidden depths that resonate with them. And in allowing these different pieces of myself to be seen, with those who can stomach it, who can appreciate it, who can simply hold space for it, I find a profound and liberating sense of wholeness. It's not about being less than; it's about being strategically, beautifully, and authentically more.
Your Unraveling Kaleidoscope💟
Different friends have different purposes to fulfill in one's life.
This is such a profound and well articulated read. Before I used to be in that phase but as one who keeps many friends (except of course, I know the ones close to my heart), I later realized that some people are placed in my life for different positions and serve different purposes. And like you said, not everyone can handle or needs that wholeness. So I find fragments of myself placed in these different sets of people. I like how you put it. Makes sense.