HAPPY. Let them haters hate. I’m doing ME. Wayyyyyy up. Can’t stop my shine! Sleep is the cousin of death. GRINDING.

Facades.

The masks we wear to face the new day. It’s what we put on in order to survive and, hopefully, thrive out here. To the world, our goal is to appear unshakeable, problem free. Powerful.

It’s not something unique to any one people. Across the spectrum of race, culture and religion, we plaster a mask to our faces on any given day for varying reasons. Whether it’s for our own sanity and survival or to put on airs and stunt for people that we might or might not care about anyway. It’s done. Generally, it’s a life saver. Kinda helps with keeping friends and jobs because you can’t really just pop off (shouts to Obama) every time someone gets on your very. last. nerve.

The access to and incessant use of technology has made constructing and orchestrating these facades even easier. We, very consciously, post our greatest selves, our wonderfully perfected selfies (1 out of the 784 taken), our triumphs, charming anecdotes, lyrics to our favorite songs, the most clever of status updates, ingenious memes. In a space that is intended to be superficial, there is rarely wonder of what is just underneath that thinly veiled surface. There is no need or desire to see deeper because please, PLEASE don’t let “them” start to ponder and tear away at my own mask. They won’t dig deeper. Why would they? It’s a cyber world. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, all of those…they aren’t the place for you to be a real human, Right?

My friend died.

Not quite two years ago. He died. A friend I had known more than half my life. The kind of friend that I could contact at any moment in time. And vice versa. A friend that I carried with me whether I had just seen him last week or last year. A friend that meant more to me than the amount of words I can find. The type of friend that I just knew would be there, right where he had been. Forever. His forever, though, came very fast. Because at 28, my friend died.

So many of us scrambled to social media for clues. Searching, examining, hoping to find the reason. To find the glimpse of him, the hint, that would give the answer of why he died. The place where less than 24 hours prior we were perfectly willing to believe was unreal and shallow is the exact place we sought answers. We sought the truth. It’s where we sought each other. To comfort and console one another through one of the most unbelievable times of our lives.

Allow the irony to envelop you.

No, the Internet is not where we showcase our full selves or even where some of us display our authentic selves. The Internet would lead anyone to believe that he was living the life that a lot of people can only dream about. It’s become the forum where our facades and incandescent impulse to haphazardly express ourselves collide. The two can and do intertwine without missing a beat. And every now and again, the truest part of us shows through an ominous IG caption under a snowy snapshot.

It’s only social media. It should not be taken as gospel. It should not replace the person that you know and see. Lord help us if it ever does. Wait…

In a society where expressing the worst of you, the lowest of you, the most embarrassing parts of you is shunned, it’s irresponsible to allow that superbly-filtered (fill in the blank) to lead you into believing that everything is always lovely.

Allow it to push you to not just say, “Man I hope he’s alright. I’mma pray for him.” Because sometimes it’s our pristinely configured masks doing the talking. Other times though, in our darkest hours, it’s not.

Not everyone’s mask is light enough to lift on their own.

At the end of the day, ’round about midnight, when there is no one to see, try as we might, we are not superheroes. Transforming back to ourselves isn’t always gentle, but I swear to you, it’s actually ok to be human. Past your front door, even. Because, I imagine, the world would do well to have more bare faces hanging out being as loud and proud as they wanna be.

We ARE only human, after all. Attempt to see past the mask.

It’s important.

Educator. Black. A woman. I’m an outspoken introvert. Consummate over-thinker. Sassy and simply complex with the courage of all of my convictions. I will debate you til the death and then hug you when it’s all over. A millennial who feels there are few things better than the ’90s. On the greatest of days, I manage to get all of it on paper.

Mask

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