Porcelain Masks

03

Callum

Age Seven

I used to wonder why people pretend like everything is okay. My mum would say it's to save face, to camouflage my feelings, because no one wants to see the ugly sides of what we are. Going forward, it's not something to be proud of. There are parts I agree with, but does it really help?

I did not know the meaning, but as I proceed with my life, I can sometimes glimpse what he means. Mainly, I can feel it. The emotions don't come rushing in me, but then I try. I try hard to smile at those parties our parents host. I need to practice it myself. I can't show any signs of vulnerability because I don't want to end up like my mum. She scares me. It's ironic—a mother should not scare her children away, but she does.

My mum says it's to save face, to hide our feelings because no one wants to see the ugly parts of who we are. I understand a little, but sometimes I wonder if it really helps. Inside, there's a monster lurking. It feels like black dots appearing and disappearing, these feelings I can't express.

"You are not acceptable as a son." My father's harsh voice echoes in my head. I try not to think about it because I like to hide my feelings. It's safer that way, especially for a seven-year-old. Don't feel too much, don't feel anything. Those are the voices I've fixed in my mind.

I see my mum struggling to keep her eyes open. It's the fourth time this month she's been sick and lying in bed. She tells me she gets sick often, but I wonder what her purpose is in living this horrible life. I know she does awful things like taking pills when no one is looking, pretending she has a disease. She's fooling everyone, but mostly she's fooling herself. Or the times she takes long showers, thinking nobody notices she's hurting herself. Her wristwatch hides the marks, but I see them.

Sadly for her, no one really cares. The only person she wants to care for her doesn't give her any reason or chance to show that he cares. He always says, "Cal, everyone is disposable." I didn't understand what he meant, but as I get older, I start to see it. I feel it. Emotions don't come rushing in, but I try. I try hard to smile at the parties our parents host. I need to practice it because I can't show any signs of weakness. I don't want to end up like my mum. She scares me. It's ironic—a mother should not scare her children away, but she does.

Every day, I practice my smile in the mirror, trying to perfect it for the parties. My parents' friends see a cheerful boy, but inside, I'm a storm of confusion and fear. I watch my dad, trying to understand him, hoping to find some sign that he cares, but his eyes are always cold and distant. His words are sharp, like daggers, and they cut deep.

I hear him say to one of his friends, "Cal will be strong. He will be like me." It's a statement, not a hope. It's as if he's carving my destiny with his words. I want to shout that I'm more than what he thinks, but I swallow the words. I must be strong. I must hide the fear and sadness.

In school, I walk with my head held high, always striving to be the best. I win lots of trophies and medals in sports and academics, never allowing myself to lose. I can't lose. I won't lose. It's like a game, but it's not fun because I'm always pretending to be someone I'm not. The teachers praise me for being quiet and hardworking, but they don't see the storm brewing inside me. They don't see the black dots that come and go in my mind, clouding my thoughts and feelings. They don't know how hard I try to hide my real self, to be the son my father wants me to be.

At night, when the house is quiet and everyone is asleep, I lie in bed and think about my mum. Sometimes I hear her crying through the walls, and it breaks my heart into pieces. I want to help her, to make her feel better, but I don't know how. I'm just a kid, trying to make sense of a world that doesn't make sense to me. But does pretending really help, or am I just making things worse for myself?

I promise myself that I'll be different. I'll be strong, but not in the way my father wants. I'll find my own way to be strong, a way that means hiding my feelings and pretending to be someone I'm not. I'll be strong for my mum, and maybe one day, I'll show her that it's okay to be herself. She doesn't have to hide anymore.

Because the monster is arising in me, blotching my throat with the black ink all over me. My mind, my body, and myself.

It's just that I am ready for it.