Personal Essay: Mask (first draft)

I sat in front of the piano and began my performance. I played Winter Wind Etude—one of Chopin’s grandest and most technical pieces. I believed I played piano well, and had practiced this piece for an entire year, but even so, I missed many notes constantly and was unable to finish the entire piece before my performance. So I cut a bit of the piece I did not know well, and played the parts I knew. When I performed, my hands were cold and I was nervous. I missed too many notes to count and paused multiple times during the performance. In short, I played terribly.  But when I finished the audience clapped, not knowing the notes I missed—most of them did not know piano, after all. The recital ended after three more players had finished their performance. 

After the performance, many of the people came to congratulate me on my good playing, and I treated them all with a smile and thanked them, as if I just won the Chopin competition. 

I am Thomas the great piano player. 

——————

I sat on a sofa, video calling my parents back in China. It was the usual parent-child conversation—“how have you been doing?”, “how is school?”, “anything interesting to share?”. Of course, I always said that I was doing well, and shared what I could about anything I thought worth mentioning that week. With them, I could share many things I would not with friends—my conflict with a classmate, my happiness on getting a good grade, opinions on the school and its people. I trusted them. 

My parents also shared what they had recently done as well, sometimes just the normal things at home, sometimes they traveled. I always listened, though sometimes a bit impatient as I had no interest with what they were saying. I suppose I am selfish. 

But I never hung up on them, for I was as eager to see them every weekend on the phone as they were to see me. I always keep in mind that someday I would not be able to see them again

I am Thomas the son. 

——————

I sat alone in front of the computer, working on a short story. The erratic ticking of the keyboard sounded in the room. My eyes were intent on my computer, and my thoughts were floating around, looking for something in my memory I could put into my story. 

Sometimes I get stuck, not knowing where to go next in the story, or looking for a better way to phrase a sentence. Sometimes I flourished, the words coming out of like water down a river. 

When I finished an essay, I revised, and revised again, and again, until I was finally satisfied with my work. 

But often I come back, a month, two months, or even a year later, only to revise and change more. 

I change, after all. 

I am Thomas the writer. 

——————

I sat around a dinner table with friends, each of us had a plate in front of us with different amounts of food. Some talked with their mouths full, others chewed carefully on their food; Some had just sat down, others leaned back with empty plates, full. 

I listened as their conversation floated here and there, from grades to basketball to teacher to student, speaking up here and there to cast in a joke or opinion. 

I am Thomas the friend. 

——————

I sat next to a teacher, a graded essay lay on the table in front of us. 

“What could I do better on this essay to get an A?” 

…

Ten minutes later I exited the classroom, a thoughtful look on my face. I walked to another building, and entered another teacher’s room. 

I am Thomas the student

——————

I sat on my bed, holding my phone sideways in my hands. Suddenly, I sprang up, letting loose a loud cheer, a grin appearing on my face. 

I am Thomas the gamer

——————

I sat, leaning back in a chair, pondering. 

A few moments later, I lean forward again, looking down on the book I am reading— I Am a Strange Loop

I am Thomas the philosopher. 

——————

I sat, crossed legged, eyes closed, breathing. 

I am Thomas the meditator. 

——————

But who really am I? Am I Thomas the philosopher, the great piano player, the gamer, the student? Why am I a different person in front of different people, and different people even when I am alone? I put on different masks in front of different people, the “son” when I am with my parents, the “student” when I am with teachers, etc. I wear these masks, sometimes willingly, sometimes unwillingly, for my own benefit always, be that to make others think better of me, or to satisfy a purpose that I am aiming for, such as getting better grades, or not offending others. These masks I wear are but aspects of my own personality, which can be taken out and put on when needed. 

But if I am wearing a mask, what am I hiding beneath it that I do not know a certain person to know? Think of it like this: I have an infinite number of different masks on my face, and I have a button that when I press it, takes out a certain face I need, and switches when needed. So every other mask I have is hiding under the mask I am wearing. Under Thomas the meditator is Thomas the gamer, the philosopher, the friend, the son, the student, …. 

But they are not just individual masks stacked on top of each other, they are instead all fused together into one big personality that is what we call ‘I’, and it is the part of ‘I’ that we do not want a certain person to see. The masks we put on are just the parts of our ‘I’ that we want others to see. 

In the end, there are no masks, there is just ‘I’. 

So who am I?

…   

I am Thomas