On cupcakes, witches and the space between

Some people are just indisputably good people.

Or are they?

The older I get, the less certain I am. 

Because the versions of others we encounter are often just that — versions. Carefully curated, circumstantial, maybe even accidental. And possibly, vastly different from the ones that exist beyond us, away from us. 

The human experience is a range. A blur of nuance we can never fully see the breadth of.

If people are good to us, does that mean they are good people? That’s usually the metric we use to measure someone’s “goodness” - how they make us feel. 

But the more I interact with the world around me (in my own limited yet significant way), the more I understand that we are all deeply flawed.This wasn’t some groundbreaking epiphany,  just a quiet realization. One not born from judgment, but from understanding.

One where you start to see, and even appreciate, the morally grey. I think I’m at that stage now.

After all, we are all villains in someone’s story.

Even if we don’t believe we’re wrong or harmful, perception has power. The way we move through the world isn’t the way the world moves around us.

We are all a big khichdi of moments that have shaped us, carrying them into every new interaction, every passing conversation. Everyone we meet reflects some part of us. And we reflect something of them.In the end, no version is complete. Just a fraction of a much messier, more human whole.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever really known anyone - or just the version presented to me? And, in a twisted way, is it really possible to ever fully know someone? 

And maybe that’s true of ourselves, because we aren’t static, nor are we meant to be. With time we feel, soften, harden, change, grow, learn. We exist in parallels. Different in each setting. Different in social circles, work meetings, parental equations. 

I’m not the same person with my childhood best friend as I am at school. I’m not the same in grief as I am in love.

So how can we expect anyone else to remain one thing?

No one sees me the same way.

So why do I see others in extremes? 

There are people in my life who might still think I’m wonderful.

And others who, with reason, might not feel that way at all.

I’ve said things I regret. I’ve stayed silent when I shouldn’t have. I’ve hurt people, even without meaning to.

In some stories I’m the sweetest cupcake of sunshine, in others I’m the wicked witch of the west. 

Which moments do I choose to define me? 

And is choosing the good moments dishonest? 

Am I only choosing to showcase my light? 

It’s easy to see ourselves through the soft focus of our best intentions. But our intentions are just that - an intent. What we hope for, is often not what we are. Others might not see it that way. 

So I can say with confidence, I’ve been both. I’ve been kind and cruel, nurturing and neglectful, gentle and mean. I’ve loved well, and let people down equally well. 

It’s not easy to hold your contradictions without judgement. To exist within them. But it’s hopeful to hold on to the good parts of yourselves, the ones you're proud of, the one’s where you’re intelligent, sweet, kind and hardworking. You can acknowledge the dark, while still believing in your light. 

And if I can learn to hold my contradictions - maybe I owe it to others to do the same for them. To understand that the people I painted in absolutes - cruel, horrible, mean - are in fact just human. Maybe they were doing the best they could. And maybe giving them grace is the best I can currently do. Because people are more than just the part they played in our stories.

And goodness, I’ve learned, isn’t a state,  it’s a practice. The version of me that someone remembers at my worst, is still me. Maybe not the whole me, but a part of me all the same. 

So maybe it’s not about being “good” in the complete sense. Maybe that’s a myth - too drastic to capture something as fluid as the human experience. 

Maybe being a good person isn’t a fixed identity, but a collection of conscious choices. Of choosing to accept mistakes as lessons. 

Trying again. Apologizing. Listening.

And maybe it also means accepting that you won’t always be understood the way you hope to be. Because everyone’s lens is shaped by stories you’ll never fully know.

I think growing up means learning to live in this in-between. To know that people are complicated. That you are too. To love anyway. To forgive yourself anyway.

And to keep showing up. To understand that you are a thousand shifting truths all at once. To meet yourself, and others, with grace.

By Sarah Makani