My life is one big performance.
No matter how sad the day gets, how broken and wounded I am, once the curtain opens and the orchestra plays, I have to smile and be perfect. Role-playing at its longest, I'd like to think of it. But the performance must be so great to fool the rest of the world, even my own self.
It all started when I was a little girl. I was compelled to act like a grown-up even when I was in kindergarten. They dressed me up in bigger girls' clothes and made me walk and talk like a grade schooler. I had to be perfect in elocution, in theater. I had to be responsible. No playing allowed, and so I didn't have a lot of friends. They forbid me to go out of our townhouse then. I could read as many books as I wanted. But I just wanted to play.
I also wanted to be my father's daughter. But as circumstances would have it, I wasnt fit to play that role.
And now, now that I've grown up, they expect me to play the happy, perfect lawyer. To borrow the words of someone, "wear your happy face. I do not want others to see your sad face." and it's playacting once more.
People aren't interested in my problems. Why would they be? But I had expected at least the closest people to me to be comforting, to hold my hand as I fight the forces which weigh me down. Instead, they tell me to put on a show so no one can see how scarred I really am.
They don't even ask me why. They just want me to cover things up.
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2 comments:
Sigh. It does sometimes seem like people want to maintain a certain order of things, by which people could easily brush off the sad and weary reality by engaging in pleasantries. like all the classics we've read, sense and sensibilities, age of innocence, etc..
Shallow and superficial, yet how do we change things? I'd rather get over with the pleasantries fast as I could, then go to the solace my room after - there, I could be free, I could embrace my own real world - as I would have it.
hmm... interesting thoughts chang.
aren't you always free?
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