Book review: Why Am I Like This, by Qaanita Hunter
I just finished Qaanita Hunter’s latest fiction novel, Why Am I Like This?, and as I closed the book I found myself searching for the right words to describe the experience. Two kept coming back to me, over and over again: raw and real. That really is the heart of this story.
One of the things we often expect from fiction is a neat, happy ending, all tied up with a bow. This book doesn’t give you that, and honestly, that’s exactly what makes it real. The ending is open-ended, with Farah still very much in the process of becoming… stumbling, learning, making questionable(!) choices, then getting back up again. It mirrors real life in a way that feels almost uncomfortably honest. Growth isn’t linear, and Hunter doesn’t pretend that it is.
What stood out to me most was how accurately the Gen Z mindset was captured. The emotional messiness, the lack of outward motivation paired with a deep restlessness and resentment, and the tendency to latch onto an emotional ‘crutch’ (and then spiral when it’s taken away)… it was all there. Farah belongs to the ‘born-free’ generation, one that didn’t witness apartheid firsthand, yet the South African context is beautifully woven in through her mother, an activist. That link grounded the story. I deeply appreciated the representation, especially African Muslim representation, which we still don’t see often enough in fiction.
Some of my favourite moments were Farah’s interactions with the old aunties at the retirement village. Those scenes were rich with humour, wisdom, and that silly tension that exists when generations misunderstand each other.
What this book does so well is take us behind the scenes of Farah’s choices. It’s easy to judge bad decisions from the outside, but Hunter gives us such a clear window INTO Farah’s worldview that, even when we shake our heads in disbelief, we still try to understand her. We see her humanness. We see a young woman still growing, without a mother or close family to guide her, doing the best she can with what she has.
We are also reminded that ‘family’ can mean more than just ‘related by blood’. When Farah finally allowed herself to see, she found herself surrounded by community… and even though that didn’t magically fix everything for her, it gave her a soft place to land while she figured things out. That, in itself, felt deeply comforting and very true to life.
The story shows that life isn’t about NEVER making mistakes; it’s about what happens after the mistake, and whether you choose to rise again.
So while the book avoids clichés, and while the ending leaves us knowing that Farah is still prone to making poor judgements when it comes to men, we’re rooting for her anyway.
By the time I reached the end, I found myself in a weird space, wondering where fiction ended and self-help began. I wonder whether this was not simply a story about Farah, but a mirror held up for the rest of us.
I also have a sneaky feeling that the open-ended ending leaves room for a sequel, and if that’s the case, I’ll gladly meet Farah again as she matures and finds her footing in the world.
