The Masks We Wear

Did you have a favorite subject in school?

I was a rather weird child who loved Mondays. Why? Because I had arts & crafts class on Monday.

The sarcastic teacher who smelled like my dad was part of my liking Mondays.

Later when arts & crafts turned into arts class in junior high, I was longing to create something… to express something.

And since then, nothing has changed.

I don’t know why I am so affected by my longing, but I tend to drown in my tastes and emotions.

I’m shaken. I’m excited. I’m drowning. And then, I wake up and ask myself.

What for?

Why does everything exist the way it exists?

Why do we long for something? Why do we love? Why do we live and what is this world for?

Why do we work? What are the moneys for? What are all these things for? Why are we humane and why do we put on makeup?

Why? Why indeed.

I want someone, anyone, to say to me, that everything is meaningless.

We never think where natural things came from. Why nature is the way it is. I think we should think about that sometimes.

Maybe because I go to an ordinary college, but I don’t have many artistic people around me.

But you know what?

We are all just wearing the mask. Acting someone who we really aren’t. It’s not a bad thing. I mean, you would freak out if a clerk suddenly burst out crying in front of you instead of serving you.

We act, in order to make things smooth, to successfully form a silent deal that we sign everyday.

We act, because we want that handsome boy to fall in love with us. We act, because we desperately need that promotion. We give a big smile to a teacher and ask questions to which we already know the answers, all to get good grads. We make fake friends from time to time so we won’t feel lonely.

We act as if we are good people, so there will be no fight. We are afraid of all the eyes on us. It’s easier that way. It’s safer that way.

And then, one day, we lose ourselves.

We act too much, now we don’t know who we truly are without masks.

Our dreams are beautiful. They sound dramatic, they look beautiful and unachievable. Our universities that we graduated from are famous and pricy.

So when you are alone, you won’t understand what is happening. Who are you?

And then you remember how you were when you were little.

You were reckless. You weren’t scared. You didn’t care. You liked what you liked and you hated what you hated. I hated Russian milk. So I literally “threw” it in the garbage once.

I think, that what we are, is shaped by who we were when we were little. It lives on inside you even when you are old.

So, what kind of child were you when you were little?

Sofa

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