The Masks I Put On Have Become Me.

Life has a way of taking and giving and taking and giving until the lines between the taking and the giving are blurred; until you don’t know what emotions to feel when you get lemons or when the lemons are taken from you just before you can make lemonades. Life has taken so much and given so much that I don’t know if I am full or empty; if I am happy or plunging into the pits of despair. I feel the emotions just brewing under the surface but I am unable to let them out because how do you let out what you cannot name? How do you let out something that even you do not know the source? So I cover it all up, they do not matter; I will just take on another persona to cover up the one I do not understand. The world will not wait for me to sit down and simmer in myself; to marinate in my feelings and ask, who are you? what do you feel? why do you feel? So if the world will not wait, if I might not understand this mystery that is Me, then I will take on another persona to cover up the one I do not understand.

I remember the day I told my dad about this party I definitely did not want to attend — I only told him because it felt nice to talk about these things: parties, lifestyle, memories; they make our yesterday seem like a distant memory, something we have all unconsciously agreed to skitter past, never brushing, a taboo to be kept unspoken — and he said it didn’t feel right. Why should one organise a party where faces are hidden, he asked. Faces tell a lot about one, you know, so if it is hidden, then how will you know friend from foe? I groaned internally that day, generation 60s with their archaic way of thought. Besides, weren’t we all wearing one right now, a mask to cover up the pain, and shame, and hurt we were feeling? What was one more physical mask? So that day, I did not go, not because generation 60s said so, but because I definitely did not want to attend, I had not yet possessed a mask for such things.

One day, I dared to take a peek into the Me that I did not understand and I recoiled in shock. The words that can describe her are: ugly, red eyes blazing, angry, confused, scared, and scary. So you know what I did? I let the Me that I understand, that I could tame and name all the feelings she felt stay in for a day, then I took the Me that I did not understand out. I watched from afar as she related with my close friends. She was a mean thing, the Me that I did not understand. She burned with hatred and scorn as she smiled and goshed with the friend that got a promotion. Even her smile was not like the one I knew, it reminded me of a beast baring its teeth before sinking them deep into the neck of its prey.

But I couldn’t hate her you see, for she was also sad. So very sad. She didn’t bare those teeth just out of hatred, she did because she was also scared. Scared of what I did not see, did not understand. She tried to show me, she said “look, everything is doomed, there is no hope for me, you, and the One you understand.” But I could only see a blurry picture so I called the Me that I understand to see and she laughed in delight, she could see red roses, you see. She could see blue blue skies and hear calming sounds. So I knew then that the Me that I understand was a mirage, so unreal because how could you see red roses, blue blue skies and hear calming sounds in a blurry world?

So I put on the Me I am familiar with; she had a hole so deep she sank into it everywhere she went. She was unlike the Me that I understand, she had been given very little and had a lot taken from her. But everyday, she tried to fill that hole with whatever she could find to stuff it with. First she tried to fill it with a quest to find purpose. She searched far and wide, high and low until she found what she thought she sought but it barely scratched the surface, the hole only grew deeper. Then she tried to fill it with people; random, close, acquaintances, family, just about anyone but she didn’t feel like she fit in. You see, her skin didn’t sit right on my bones so she could not bend and unbend herself to fit into these spaces. I tried to tell her I didn’t do well with this thing she wanted to try, opening up. I explained that her solution to that hole was my biggest fear so she pointed at me and bared her teeth. You know what I did? I let her take over. She laughed in victory and tried again, this time with AP.

She let him in and he tried so well to fill that hole that was so deep she sank into it. She looked at me and said see, I am doing it. Even I was impressed, AP was a natural. He held her hands as she gradually let her joy and content from being with him fill that large enough space within her. He laughed in amusement when she was startled by the sound she made when happiness engulfed her. He told her “you complete me too, you know” when she looked in and remarked in wonder at how fast the space within her was closing up. We watched on— Me, the Me that I did not understand, and the Me that I understand— as she lived this life for us. We watched on as her world became red roses, blue blue skies, and calming sounds just as the Me that I understand had seen. I turned to the Me that I did not understand and said, see, look, you were wrong all along. And she sneered and said, “life has a way of taking and giving and taking and giving until the lines between the taking and giving are blurred.” I did not understand my own words coming out from her mouth.

One day, AP began to take or was it the Me that I was familiar with that sabotaged herself into taking and taking? I do not know but what I know is this: AP’s words stopped filling that space within her. His laughter began to pinch and squeeze her ears. His voice could no longer save her from drowning in the hole so deep within her. AP saw this and dared to twist the knife deeper. You see, in a two-step dance, one has to say enough for the dance to stop. AP wanted to be the one so he started non vocally; he stepped on her toes as she tried to dance away from him. He stopped picking her calls when he sensed that she had mustered courage to say enough. And when he came over one day, before she could say “the hole within me has grown deeper again”, he told her he was no longer the rain to fill her up, the face to bring happiness out of her. He didn’t want to hold her hands anymore because the Her he was familiar with was no longer there so he had to go find her in someone else.

So here we are, all four of us fighting for space in this body. So much has been given and taken from us that the lines have blurred. What do we do? How do we share this body? Who would live this life for us? The Me that I do not understand? She’s too ugly for the people I care about. The Me that I understand? But she’s a mirage you see. The Me I am familiar with? She has a hole so deep enough for four of us to drown in. Me? But who will I be if I live for us? I haven’t even done any living before, what if I fail us? So we have decided to live as one, to drown in the hole together. I cannot tell where I begin and end for the masks I put on have become me.