Never Enough

Chapter 1

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Do you know what it's like to wake up each day, burdened with the constant feeling that nothing you do, say, or give will ever be enough—that you yourself will never be enough? If you've never experienced it, let me tell you: it feels absolutely miserable. My parents love me deeply, but I sense that, deep down, they wish I were more extraordinary. I've got no discernible talent, despite their countless efforts and spending on lessons—singing, ballet, hip-hop, contemporary, tap, drawing, painting, piano, guitar, violin, and acting. I've flunked them all. How can one person be so untalented? I wish I knew the answer. It's as if talent is a distant land that I can't even find on a map, let alone visit.

My parents tell me to be grateful for my looks, but even there, I have doubts. They insist I'm beautiful, but I see only limp black hair, dull green eyes, pale lips, and a smattering of freckles that make my face look perpetually dirty. My mom says the freckles highlight my bright green eyes, but I disagree. In my dreams, I imagine myself a version of me who finds love and affirmation. In these dreams, a perfect man shows me that I am enough, but as I look closer, I realize he has no face. I panic, stumble into a pit of mirrors, shattering each one as it reflects my ugly, flawed self. Screaming and crying, I wake up to reality.

Groggily, I check the time: 8:25 a.m. "Five minutes before the alarm," I mumble. I shut it off and head for coffee. The rich aroma greets me the moment I open my bedroom door. "Mm, delicious," I say, "You sure know how to make a girl happy."

"No, just one in particular," Natalie replies with a smile. "I made you a cup too."

"You're the best," I say, stretching and heading to the kitchen island. "How'd you sleep?" She asks.

"Ugh, sleep," I reply.

"Same dream?" she asks.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Bad?"

"It's the same as always. Faceless guy, ugly me. Just exhausting."

"First of all," Natalie says, "Shut the hell up. You're far from ugly. Secondly, if you had a better attitude about yourself, you'd have better dreams." She sips her coffee, signaling that's all she has to say. "Look, Nat, we can't all love ourselves like you do."

"Giiirrrrl, yes you can!" she retorts. "Don't give me that bullshit."

"It's not bullshit," I reply. "I wasn't born as fabulous and bootylicious as you."

"I know," she says, dancing a little and sticking her tongue out. "I'm blessed! But you're blessed in other ways. We just need to help you see that. Now, let's get ready before we're late for work." I glance at the clock and my eyes widen. It's 9:45 a.m., and we have to be at work by 10:30. "Shit," I say, quickly finishing my coffee. "We cannot afford to be late, literally!"

"Exactly," she says. "Because then we'll get fired, and we won't be able to afford this amazing apartment." She poses by the window, gazing out at the city of San Francisco. I laugh and tell her to get down and get dressed. "We've got fifteen minutes!" I call out as I rush into my room.

I throw off my robe and sports bra, searching my closet for something decent. I settle on light-wash blue jeans, navy flats, a yellow off-the-shoulder shirt with white stripes, and a navy blue blazer. I race to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and pull my hair into a high ponytail. "Should I put on makeup?" I call to Natalie.

"Yes, bitch!" she yells back. I smile, grabbing my eyeliner and applying it swiftly, followed by some lip gloss. I add silver hoop earrings and a chunky silver necklace with pearls. One last glance in the mirror, and I'm ready. I grab my bag and phone, and as I look at my bed, I just throw the comforter over the mess. Usually, I make my bed, but I'm running late today.