The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts

Untitled Because Titles Mask Creativity

Okay, so here's the thing. I wear a mask. Every day. It doesn't pain me, but I was thinking, maybe we all wear masks. Maybe we don't truly know each other because of these masks we wear, and I want to know you. You, whoever you are. So I thought I'd tell you my story. Yes, I wear a mask and maybe you do, too. Don't ask me when or how they got there, or why we started putting them on in the first place, but they exist, that's for sure. I hope to defeat my mask. I hope not to continue to let it be me. So with every word I write, I hope to peel my mask away piece by piece through a journey of words and self-discovery. I hope that you can do so, too. I don't know your story, but that doesn't mean I don't want to. So here's mine. I hope I'll get to know yours one day, too. Enjoy.
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First day, ninth fall. New school, new kids, new life. She puts on her backpack and a mask because she doesn't know who she is now. She puts on a mask because she doesn't know who to be.

Twelfth day, tenth summer, and her whole life is a lie. It's her tenth birthday party and kids from school show up. Her mom thinks she's popular; she knows they only came because their parents made them.

Fifth grade, tenth winter, and it's bullying for the first time. The kids think she's weird. She knows they're right, because she acts that way. She can't blame them. It's her fault for starting; now she can't stop.

First day, eleventh summer. New school; new friends; new life. She changes her mask because she knows she got it wrong now. She changes her mask because she knows who she wants to be.

Sixth grade, eleventh winter. Everyone has a different impression of her, and now she's not just masked; she is a freaking chameleon.

Last day, eleventh summer, and she's smart around him, and funny around her, and she enters beauty pageants because she wants to recreate herself, so she wears fancy dresses and shiny jewelry so now she looks pristine. She sits down and wonders how to do the same to her mind.

First day, twelfth fall, and it's a new school year. Makeup is already her mask on the first day of school; she doesn't want them to see that she is not ready.

Seventh grade, twelfth fall, and it's her second "boyfriend." She likes him because he likes her. She slowly becomes more distant; she tells him to give her space, and he begs for her to let him in. Little did he know, she cried herself to sleep at night because she didn't know how.

Seventh grade, twelfth winter, and it's bullying, yet again. She auditions for show choir against the girl who's put her through hell. The girl makes a mistake in her audition and cries. She puts her arm around the girl. "It's going to be alright," she says. The girl glances up. "You know we're not friends, right?" the girl asks. "I know." She smiles ruefully.

Seventh grade, twelfth spring. She bids the eighth graders good riddance. She'll only miss a few. She wishes them all the best.

Twelfth day, thirteenth summer. It's her birthday, and it drives her crazy, getting old. She is constantly underestimated by others, and she wants them to know the real her. She searches for that herself. All she finds is uncertainty.

First day, eighth grade, thirteenth fall, and all the makeup in the world wouldn't make her less insecure. New year, same kids, new girl, she decides. She reinvents her personality yet again, and everyone thinks she's smart, and kind, and she goes by what they say. She doesn't know by herself.

Eighth grade, thirteenth fall. She unrelentingly asks what others think. She is lost, and not knowing herself is driving her slowly insane. She possesses an aching thirst for knowledge. She seeks her own opinion in the words of others.

Thirteenth winter, New Year's approaching, and she is no longer a chameleon. She is a mirror. She doesn't blend in; she reflects others. No longer her own being, she wonders how to reflect inward.
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My name is Ali, and for too long, I have not worn a mask. For too long, a mask has worn me. I look back today, and I wonder who I would be if I had never put it on in the first place. I doubt I'll ever find her, but I cannot dwell on the past. I put on a mask because I thought I didn't know who I was. I was right. I didn't know who I was around the people in my new school. I change in order to adapt to my environment and the people I'm around. I don't know who I am in general, up to this day. What I'm saying is that I have a million sides to me, which is both a blessing and a curse. I reflect outwardly. It started with a mask, and now I'm a mirror, and I wonder who I would be if I were neither. I'm not sad about not knowing her—not being her—just a little disappointed. Consistency is key, and consistent is something I am not. For that, I am lost, but I am not disappointed in who I am today. I cannot change the past, but I darn sure can change the future. I have accepted who I am, and I will be her, and no one else. Because who I am is someone awesome, and you must believe the same about yourself. So here's the thing. I wear a mask. Every day. It doesn't pain me, but I was thinking, maybe we all wear masks. Maybe you do, too. But I admonish, dear reader, if you must wear a mask, do not let it wear you.