My personal shadow is not so dark. Not so scary.
It’s just a little boy who is afraid.
There is nothing wrong with fear.
But growing up wired to believe that you must not be afraid… that is really scary.
When this little kid started knocking on my door, asking for some comfort,
it was the first time someone noticed him.
This kid is a genius.
A master at hiding intentions and emotions.
A master at orchestrating situations and people behind the scenes.
He never had big aspirations for himself.
He knew his capabilities. He knew he could be the main character.
He just realized early that this was not the point.
Despite everyone telling him he was smart and talented,
he didn’t want the spotlight.
All he ever wanted was to be around people who are loved and connected.
But it never worked.
He didn’t understand why.
He missed a key point: only he sees the world this way.
This haunted him.
He never felt truly connected with anyone… besides animals.
Countless nights he spent trying to understand others. Life. Death.
Something was always off.
The narrative of the world never resonated.
He thought: everyone resonates except me.
There must be something wrong with me.
Why can’t anyone else see what I see?
Why does no one care about what I care about?
As I listened to this kid day by day,
the tears I wept kept flooding.
All his life, he thought he was wrong.
He blamed himself for everything around him.
He tried desperately to fix it but kept failing.
He had a brother who never answered,
a father who showed friendship and support but one day disappeared,
and a mother who would do anything to see him happy…
but the little boy could never really be happy.
He didn’t want to be happy.
He knew this was not the goal.
All he wanted was to be felt and understood.
As he grew older, his heart turned colder.
Disappointed by his never-ending failed attempts at connection,
he started faking it.
He put on masks every time he went out.
They broke when he returned home.
He kept creating new ones.
One day, he perfected the art.
He made a mask so good it made him look exactly like everyone else.
He finally learned how to be part of society.
Little did he know this would be the last mask he’d ever wear.
Why? Because he did such a good job
that he himself forgot he was wearing it.
And now I understand this little kid.
I see his face behind my mask.
As I talked to him, reality lost its meaning.
The line between past, present, and future became a tiny fracture.
I started seeing his face everywhere—
in the darkness of the night,
as a blurry, distorted reflection in mirrors.
His willpower and dedication could never be contained behind a mask.
This tiny fracture of time and space was all it took
to shatter his masterpiece into a million pieces,
revealing countless fractures already waiting to be seen.
As I write this, the little boy is proud.
His perspective is finally seen.
He can rest and stop creating new masks.
If he knew how many people were cut by the pieces of his broken masks,
he probably would have made them anyway.
But the last one was different.
This mask’s million pieces cut a single person:
the only person who ever truly understood and loved him.
In trying to protect himself from past experiences,
he had been blind to the fact that in front of him stood someone who loved and cared for him.
