The above line in Yorùbá language (with its translation) from Beautiful Nubia’s song (The Small People’s Anthem) has re-echoed in my mind for years. Every time I hear it, my brain goes into sarcasm mode:

“So if I want to live long, maybe I should cancel my goodness subscription and sign up for wickedness instead. Stay wicked, guys! It’s the secret to longevity!” 😂

Of course, that’s the wrong deduction. But humour sometimes exposes deeper paradoxes than a solemn lecture ever could.

If we are honest, life sometimes seems to mirror that proverb. The people who shine the brightest, who exude joy, kindness, or light, often seem to be the ones taken too soon. Meanwhile, those who thrive on selfishness, bitterness, or outright wickedness somehow keep clocking years as if they possess a special health plan.

 

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You are probably wondering why I am thinking about this now, and what the charming animal in the featured photo has to do with this. I never really thought about this beyond humans until I stumbled on an Instagram post shared by a friend about the Quokka, the little marsupial from Western Australia known as the “happiest animal on earth.” With its round cheeks and natural smile, the quokka looks like it was designed to cheer you up. Tourists queue up for selfies with it. Yet here’s the irony: quokkas are vulnerable to extinction due to threats from predators and habitat loss.

The quokka smiles its way into our hearts and straight onto the vulnerable species list. Happiness, it seems, is often fragile.

It made me pause. Is this a coincidence, or is there a pattern that beings or species radiating happiness and openness are often the most fragile in a rough world?

Okay, I may be overthinking this, but then…

 

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Think about it. The people who smile easily, who carry joy on their faces, are often those who have cultivated deep peace inside. Scripture says, “Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34). The verse might be quoted out of context, but hear me out. Think about it. You don’t exude joy regularly unless there is a well of it rooted deep within.

And yet, that joy, which should be a strength, often makes you vulnerable. Happy, open-hearted people tend to trust more, risk more, and sometimes guard themselves less. They are more exposed to disappointment, betrayal, or even exploitation. Their light draws others, but it can also attract emotional, social, or even systemic predators.

Joy is both a strength and a vulnerability. It heals the heart, but it doesn’t always shield it.

Life seems to flip the script, turning the very thing that should signify flourishing into a liability.

 

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So even within scripture, the tension is alive: joy is both a strength and a vulnerability.

This isn’t just a cultural observation from my part of the world. It long predates us. Scripture itself wrestles with this paradox. On one hand, Proverbs 17:22 tells us: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Joy here is described as healing, life-giving, and protective.

But then Ecclesiastes 9:11 adds another perspective: “The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong… but time and chance happen to them all.” Joy, strength, or wisdom are not guarantees of survival or longevity. Outcomes in life are not always a reflection of character. Sometimes the wicked outlast the righteous, not because they have found a secret to endurance, but because life under the sun is unpredictable and often beyond our control.

And then Christ brings the tension into sharper focus: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33). Joy is promised, but so is trouble. Happiness is not a shield against suffering. It is more like a lamp in the storm.

So where does this leave us? Joy can heal, but it can also expose us. Wisdom and strength are valuable, but they cannot secure outcomes. Even Christ tells us to expect both trouble and triumph. Perhaps the point is not that happiness is fragile but that it is defiant. To smile, keep an open heart, and radiate light in a world of uncertainty is not naïve. It is an act of resistance. Vulnerability does not reduce the value of joy. It deepens it. True joy is not the absence of risk. It is the presence of something greater that carries us through risk.

“Joy is both a strength and a vulnerability. It heals the heart, but it doesn’t always shield it.”

And yet, the question remains: why does the world seem to work this way?

 

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Maybe because happiness and visible joy are signs of openness. The smiling face, the trusting posture, the generous heart, all of these signal to the world, “I am safe enough to be unguarded.” That works beautifully in safe environments. But in a world where predators, animal or human, lurk, openness becomes risky.

The quokka doesn’t run at the first rustle. It stays curious, ‘smiling’. The happy person gives people the benefit of the doubt. Both are admirable. Both are risky.

It’s almost as if happiness flourishes best in gardens of safety but struggles in fields of thorns. And yet, we keep choosing it. Because what is life without joy?

 

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If you take the saying in Beautiful Nubia’s lyrics at face value, the “lesson” is obvious: if you want to live long, abandon goodness and embrace wickedness. It’s a survival hack! After all, bitterness, suspicion, and selfishness do provide certain protections. The wicked build walls, guard their interests, and outlast the naïvely good.

Wickedness may buy you time, but goodness buys you eternity.

But really, who wants that kind of longevity? What is the point of surviving if you leave no light behind? As another saying goes, “Better a short life full of meaning than a long life spent in shadows” – Alan Watts.

 

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This is where Mother Theresa’s words echo: “People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centred. Forgive them anyway… If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish motives. Be kind anyway… Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway.”

Happiness may not guarantee safety. Goodness may not guarantee longevity. But both guarantee that while you are here, you make life more bearable, beautiful, and human.

That’s the paradox: happiness is vulnerable but also undefeated. Vulnerable because the world bruises it. Undefeated because it keeps springing back, rooted deep in hearts that refuse to surrender to bitterness.

So, the next time you see someone who smiles easily, or you spot a quokka’s permanent grin, don’t just think, “Oh, how cute.”  Think instead, “Here is fragility, here is strength, here is life at its most paradoxical.”

And then maybe whisper to yourself: Be good anyway.

 

What do you think? Is happiness always vulnerable, or is that just how it looks when we focus on the quokkas of this world?