01/12/2017 - 12/12/2017
On Christmas Eve, when I was 3 years old, my dad dressed-up as Santa. I got so scared I started crying and didn't stop until my mother told him to take off the mask.
When he took it off and picked me from the ground I wasn't scared anymore, he's my Dad.
Even though my brother, who at the time was 9 years old, filmed it no one has seen it in a long time, including me.
But I remember that moment very well.
It's not that I don't like Santa Claus, I don't like people dressed-up as Santa...
Not just because it's scary, but because I can always see the thick black brows underneath the mask.
I wonder if that was the moment where it all began.
Was that the moment where I started hating masks? Or maybe wearing them? What did I learn that night?
With a little bit of thinking I concluded that my 3 year old mind was just scared.
And my 16 years old mind is also scared of masks.
Don't get me wrong, we all use masks. To make us look nice, dumb, polite, happy, doesn't matter. But there are certain masks people wear that I wish didn't exist. The ones you don't even know when or if they're wearing. You don't know if you can trust people because of it.
I mean, how would we know when someone is lying or pretending to be something they're not just to fool us, making us feel bad, to know all our secrets so they can tell others and laugh together behind our back.
We can't. I can't.
And in the end, they can't either. Because even though it's not to attack but to protect,
I wear masks too.
YOU ARE READING
Pieces of Me.
Non-FictionHi there, how are you? I hope you're okay. Like the title says, this book is made of pieces of me, sort of like a diary. Each chapter has its topic, message and feeling. I write it as my life goes on, pouring my heart out, mentioning a lot of the...
