Masks

We all wear them at one point or another in our lives.
Lately I've been wondering why.
Why do we automatically say we're fine, when someone asks us how we're doing.
Why we need to laugh at a joke that wasn't funny at all, just because we want to be part of the gang.
Why we hide our fears, tears and frustrations.
Why we always need to go outside with a smile.
Why we say what people want to hear and not what's on our mind.
Why we pretend to be someone we're not, sometimes unaware that we're doing it.
Why we put on our beautiful mask, just so we'll be accepted.
Why we are a fake.

The more I think about it, the more I believe that people need to please others. They're afraid that, if the mask comes off, no one will care for what they see. They're afraid that others will see them as weak, and who wants to be viewed like that? We need to be strong and not let life's struggles wear us down. We need to be heroes and save all the unfortunate people we come across with. We need to be happy, no matter the circumstances. We need to be beautiful and conceal the zits and the dark under eye circles. Because someone said so. No one recalls who said so, but it's been passed from generation to generation, in a very subtle way, and we believe we can't survive in this world without masks.

The story says that a wife always cooked her pot roast in a very particular way. She always cut about a third of the meat, put it in the freezer, and cooked the bigger piece. Her husband was always intrigued by this, and the answer he got was that this was her mother's recipe, this is exactly how she's done it every time, so she really didn't care to know why this was. Mother said so. So the tradition was passed on, and when this woman's daughter was married and cooked the famous roast with the same recipe, she, also, would keep a small part in the freezer and cooked the rest. Until one day, when grandma came to visit, and the granddaughter wanted to cook it perfectly to impress grandma. She took the meat, cut a small part and froze it, then proceeded to cook the bigger part. "Honey'", asked grandma, "why do you do that? Why don't you cook the whole piece of roast?" Puzzled, the girl said, "well, I don't really know why. Just because mom said so. This is the why she taught me, and she didn't really know why either... just because you always did it like that, I guess!..." Grandma chuckled a little. "I always did that in the old days, dear, because my pot was too small to hold the whole chunk of meat."

I can't keep but wonder what would life be if we tossed the idea that we need to appear composed at all times, because someone, who will forever be nameless, said so. What would the whole world be like if, at the count of three, we all dropped our masks to the ground, never to be picked up again, and be comfortable wearing our own skin.