Camille

“How do you feel?” I asked her.
“I’m excited to talk with you,” she said with a laugh. “And there’s your dog! I’m always happy when I see a dog.”

“What does happiness mean to you?”
“It’s that feeling when you don’t need or want anything more than what you already have. When I’m happy, I can’t help but smile all the time,” she said, laughing again.

“Is there something in your life that makes you unhappy?”
“A lot of things. Mostly, people. Crowds of people. When I’m in the metro or walking on the street, I get defensive and feel uneasy.”
“What is it about the crowd that makes you feel that way?”
“It’s like everyone is watching me, even though no one actually cares. I just blend in, and it makes me feel disconnected—like there’s no genuine contact with anyone.”
“And why does that unease you?”
“I just don’t like people in general. I prefer animals. With people, I find myself disagreeing on so many things.”

“You say you don’t like people, but you’re also one of us, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Does that mean you dislike yourself as well?”
“Yeah.”

“Describe yourself.”
“I’m a very giving person. Even though I don’t like people, I work as a nurse in a hospital. But when I say I don’t like people, I mean the crowd. Crowds dehumanize you. They strip away your uniqueness.”

“What’s your uniqueness?”
“Everyone has their own uniqueness because everyone is different. It’s the comparison with others that makes us unique.”

“What is it that you give to others?”
“My time, my attention, and gifts.”
“Why do you do that?”
“It makes me feel like I matter, like I’m seen and important.”
“And why do you need that?”
“I suppose it’s because I don’t really feel important. With my mum, I feel too important—she’s always watching me. My dad, on the other hand, is more of an absent figure. From the age of twelve, I started to strongly dislike myself. Even though it’s a bit better now, I still struggle with it. Giving gifts to my friends gives me a sense of purpose in life.
But it’s strange—sometimes I want to be seen, and other times, I just want to disappear.”

“What matters most to you in life?”
“Not much, really. Maybe just to feel happy. If you’re not happy, what’s the point of living?”
“But we can’t always feel happy.”
“Oh, of course, I mean being happy overall.”
“And what if someone doesn’t feel happy overall?”
“Then they need to change something.”

“Is it so bad to feel unhappy?”
“I don’t know, honestly. When I’m unhappy, I don’t want to do anything. And life is long—if I spend sixty years doing nothing, that would really suck.”
“What do you mean when you say life is long?”
“Sixty or eighty years feels like a long time. Sure, time flies, but when I think about it, there’s so much time to do whatever you want. Maybe not everything in one day, but in a year? That feels possible.”
“Time is just a concept, in my opinion. But cultivating the thought that we might die at any moment can be incredibly important.”
“That’s the thing—everything has an opposite. Like, I know myself, but I don’t really know myself. Life is long, but life is also short. That’s why I’m so confused,” she laughed. “Before this conversation, I thought I knew myself better.”

“Is there something else you have doubts about?”
“I’m not sure if nursing is right for me. I try not to think about it, because when I do, it paralyzes me with anxiety. Sometimes I wonder if I should stay in the hospital or explore veterinary medicine instead.”
“Usually, it’s not the doubt itself that causes anxiety but the inaction. The answer is probably already in your heart.”
“Yeah, I know I don’t want to be a nurse forever.”
“Does the idea that life is long hold you back from acting?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. If life is short, then I don’t know what to do with it. Should I change everything or just try to be happy with what I already have?” Her eyes filled with tears.