Masks we wear

I am prompted by nothing in particular to write this journal entry. Truth be told, I am not the most deliberate individual, and writing journals is, unfortunately, not a habit of mine. It is not pessimistic to reflect that there’s a time in every individual’s existence when he seeks the pleasure of his own company- where family and friends remain but a distraction, albeit a healthy one, one could reflect in hindsight- but I remain sheltered and nourished by the depths of my own conscience.  It does not bode me well to hurt others by the solitude I seek, for that is not my intention. But, as it often occurs in the pursuit of isolation, the ones around me are affected, invariably.  Questions about my destiny remain now nothing but wild musings with no answers, casual social debates with no resolution. My soul remains troubled with uncertainties, uncertainties that have nothing to do with the outside world –am I a puppet that exists to entertain the world around me, or do I truly have any dreams of my own? I do not know. I may never know.

                But, in my own world, the outside is filled with apparent warmth and love. I, like every other person on this planet, have a job, a family and good friends. But I understand not the guises that people wear, the veil of lies and deceit behind which they hide. I do not know if the smile across the room comes from the lips, or from the eyes. But I hope I make them smile from their hearts. I hope the disguises I wear disarm theirs.

I reflect mirthlessly on the irony of my profession. For alas, one must understand, must one not, the art of subtle deception, before one hides behind a mask?

-A. Clown