I’m wearing a porcelain mask. The porcelain face is smiling and the
eyes are bright and wide. Yet the face underneath isn’t the same, even if no
one knows.
I’ve tried to remove the mask, but it seems to be a part of me now.
People expect that daunting smile and, no matter how hard I try, if I
ever say I’m not feeling well they don’t believe me, all they see is that fake
smile on my face.
We think there should be an absolute convergence between our face and what we think we are "inside", but it would be terrible if we didn't have the freedom to put on masks. If our emotions were visible whether we wanted them to be or not would change human life beyond recognition. Janette Turner Hospital has a wry short story about a character who can't hide his emotions (his skin changes colour): "The Chameleon Condition", in the volume Isobars.
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