I wear a mask. You do, too. I can see it clearly. Everyone can. In fact, it's on display.
Mine is old. Too old, I think. I might need to paint it again, or even make a new one.
You want to know why I wear this particular piece of attire today, and everyday? Do you promise to keep it a secret? No? Well, I think I'll tell you anyhow. You're doing the same thing.
You see, we are afraid. Shaking with fear almost. Of what, you ask? We are afraid of our fellow human beings. We have good reason to, too. We are so mean to each other, and I’ve always been afraid that no one will understand me, so I wear my mask. You have the same problem. If you claim otherwise, you’re a bad liar, and you’re even more afraid than I am.
We hurt each other to gain respect from people, and then when people hurt us, we break. We want revenge, though we forget that we do the same thing all the time. We aren’t all evil, though. We are just fragile creatures afraid of crushed dreams and broken hearts, that’s all. To protect ourselves, sometimes we go a little too far, and hurt someone else. A child’s mistake. We are all still children, you know. Just some of us like to pretend that we’re something we’re not. No. Not some of us. All of us.
My mask is fluorescent orange. It tells everyone that I act five years old. The mouth is curled up at the corners, forever in a smile. The eyes are laughing eyes.
My real eyes don’t laugh.
They watch behind the plaster. I look at the masks passing by, wondering which person is exactly like me. The one that is afraid that no one will like the real her or him. My mask is broken, and I can’t fix it. No one likes my mask, but I’m afraid that no one would really like it if I took it off, either. So, I just think that I will keep it on for now.
You are like that, too.
What are you thinking? Please. Tell me what you really think. How everyone sees you, but most importantly, how you really are. What does your mask look like? What do you look like?
What do I look like?
To tell you the truth, I have no clue. All I see when I catch my reflection is the happy vulnerable little girl.
When I go home, and I look in the mirror though, my mask falls of sometimes, and I glimpse the girl hiding beneath. I am no longer orange, but blue. An icy, shocking blue. My mouth is a straight line. My eyebrows are arched in concern for those I love.
The next day, I go to brush my teeth, and there is that orange smile.
I hate it.
Do you know how my mask got broken?
I tried to take it off once. In school, I mean.
I grabbed it and forcefully tried to pull it off. It tore at my flesh and soul, and it was agonizing. It was as if it was glued on my face. I couldn’t get it off. Finally, I managed to rip it off, breaking the mask in half. I looked at the mask incredulously. Then, I fit the halves back together. They mended quickly, but there is a crack from the forehead to the lips. I put it down on a table and looked around.
It was amazing. I could see everyone’s masks, but people couldn’t see mine. I was quiet. I was peaceful. I talked to people, and they laughed with me, not at me.
Then, one of my friends came up and talked to me and….they asked me if I was doing okay. They told me that maybe I should go to the nurse.
Why?! I wanted to scream. Because I’m normal? Because I’m fine now? Because I’m not giggling and running around in circles? What am I, your pet?

Yes.

I am the orange girl because that’s what they expect of me. My peers, I mean. Once you have a mask, you can’t take it off again.
One day I will, you know. I’ll find a way to be me again.
I should probably prepare for tomorrow. So I can put on my plaster and paint.