BROKEN VOWS

Chapter four.. Actors & masks👺👹

RAINBOW.

The term "actor" is reserved for those on screen, but the truth is, we're all playing roles. In our daily lives, we encounter people who are expertly hiding behind masks - friends, family, neighbors, and even our partners. They blend in seamlessly, concealing their true selves.

If you look closely, you'll notice the faint outlines of these masks. Everyone wears one, carefully crafted to conceal their pain, fears, and insecurities. We're all performing, trying to convince the world - and ourselves - that we're okay.

Masks are donned for many reasons, but mine is a masterful disguise. Behind it, I conceal the brutal truth of my daily life: the pain, the depression, the bruises, the haunting nightmares, and the suffocating emptiness.

But what's eating away at me now is the weight of deception. I'm consumed by guilt - not just for the secrets I keep, but for the lies I tell. I've deceived those around me, hiding my true self behind a facade of normalcy.

In a few minutes, my mom's face will appear on the iPad screen, and I'll paint on a bright, artificial smile. I'll enthusiastically discuss the kids' latest projects and the progress they've made since my last visit. It's a familiar routine, one that requires me to put on a mask of happiness and normalcy.

I'll conjure up tears of joy, expressing excitement for the good news and my longing to see everyone. I'll spin a tale about being too busy with work to visit and mention the fictional artwork I'm supposedly creating but can't share due to a non-disclosure agreement. The irony is bitter - it's been three years since I last held a paintbrush.

Art was the thread that stitched Mama and me together; she's an art aficionado, and it was our shared passion. Now, it's just another secret I keep from her, another lie to maintain the illusion.

At the orphanage, we affectionately call all the caretakers "mothers" because they're the closest thing we have to family. But Mama Evelyn holds a special place in my heart. We bonded over our shared experiences, and she shielded me from the cruel realities of the world...or at least, she tried to.

As I gaze at my reflection on the iPad screen, a wave of nausea washes over me. My face is heavily made up, a mask of artificial perfection. I'm terrified that if I smile too widely, the facade will crumble, revealing the truth beneath.

I'm draped in an elegant white and purple turtleneck gown, a favorite of mine. Mama always had a fondness for white, saying it symbolized purity and peace. I stifle a bitter laugh. Nothing about my life is pure or peaceful. It's all just a carefully crafted illusion.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice the incessant beeping of the device in my hands, signaling Mama's call.

I tapped the screen to accept the call, plastering on a bright, artificial smile. "Hey, Mama," I chimed, relieved that my voice didn't tremble.

Mama's face filled the screen, her nose practically touching the device. "Hello, my beautiful baby," she cooed.

I chuckled nervously. "Ma...Mama, what are you doing?" But before I could finish, she asked, "Bow? Baby, are you there? Why can't I see you?" My heart skipped a beat. I'd almost forgotten...

Mama's struggles with technology are the stuff of legend. She's convinced that one day, it'll all come to life and steal our souls. I recall the Herculean effort it took to get her to use the iPad Ben gifted her for her birthday.

"It's okay, Mama," I said patiently. "I'm right here, and I can see you. You just need to turn on your camera, remember? Like I showed you?"

As I watched her fumble with the screen, I offered gentle guidance...