Mask 1 – @ The Office
*characteristics: avoids confrontations
[08.05]
“Was this deadline manageable?”
I smile looking down at my sore hands from endless hours typing frantically to submit the final
report.
I reminisce on the sneering white lamp illuminating my blank document as though to mock and
remind me of my failures of time management.
I look back at sleepless nights in the city questioning my self worth from my ability to
successfully execute a task.
Procrastination was an uninvited dinner guest showing up countless times to cloud my
judgement and to make all responsibilities seemed minuscule and unimportant. I tried mild
techniques to expel this unwanted individual, yet she wouldn’t seem to leave, insisting on
lingering at the back of my mind…
“Yup!” I reply suppressing down self-doubt into a deep
dark
void.
Mask 2 – Out & About
*characteristics: small talk
[18.05]
“How’s the soon-to-be mother?”
A weak beam plastered on my face suppresses the hard reality of the miscarriage.
My charismatic persona masking the emerging pain which heightened with every conversation.
Carrying the weight of a long day at work and the inability to embrace the traditional sense of
motherhood, I drew on my pre-programmed response ignoring moments of collapsing on the
bathroom floor wondering where it all went wrong, ignoring intrusive thoughts highlighting my
flaws and mental images that I’ll never be able to care for a youth.
But
What do you say?
Call out the truth at the top of your lungs as you long to lift this heavy weight, call out to release
the pain you’ve endured through since the first doctors visit?
No.
I avoid the awkwardness that will linger in the air and utter the pre-programmed reply:
“Excited.”
Mask 3 – none
*characteristics: unsure
[23:11]
Tucked away in the safety of my bedroom, I admire the growing mask collection – the no-
opinion-mask, the-blend-in-the-background-mask, or the-ignoring-the-sexist-comment-mask.
Amidst this array, a sense of overwhelming washes over impending gradually then all at once.
Expectations to conform. Traditions to honor. How many more masks will it take?
A part of me wants to rip the collection apart, tear it down piece by piece and rebuild the
foundation. But no matter how much I want to, no matter how hard I try, I know I am simply a
single diminutive identity oppressed by societal demands, hosting a masquerade of fake
façades.
