The Art of Becoming Someone Else

“It is to hide from others that we wear masks; but being hideous from one’s own self is tiring, is it not?”

I used to wonder if I was manipulating others into believing that they really knew me. If I were being as truthful as I have ever been, would they turn back and walk away? If they knew I was nothing more than a sad, lost, and sometimes dishonest person, would they question their own perception of me? I often thought about how easily we built illusions- how we edit our truths, soften our edges, and present the palatable versions of ourselves just to be seen, liked, and loved.

Growing up, I realized that we are all made of versions: shifting, layered, and selective. There’s a version for every person who crosses our paths. We wear emotional masks like second skin. With some, we are confident and bright; with others, soft-spoken and careful. With a few rare souls, we let our edges show.

It is one thing to hide from the eyes of others, but it is something entirely different to hide from yourself. I have always curated a version of myself according to the people I meet, almost like editing the story before it’s told. But somewhere along the way, I began to wonder if this is my real self? Should I embrace it? Is manipulation the key that opens hearts, or is it just my way of shielding the parts of me that are too fragile to show?

Because truthfully, isn’t everyone doing the same? We say we crave honesty, but honesty often feels too raw, too uncomfortable, too unfiltered. We love the idea of vulnerability, but when faced with someone’s unedited emotions- the mess, the insecurity, the contradiction- we often step back, unsure how to hold it.

Are you as happy as you make others believe? As kind, as respectful, as sure of yourself as you appear to be? Would they still stay if they saw the unfiltered you? Behind the closed curtains, when the performance ends.

If they know you cry over the smallest of things, would they understand or laugh behind your back? If you told them you craved to be loved, would they call you desperate?

There’s a quiet kind of loneliness in knowing that no one will ever fully know you- not because you don’t want them to, but because some parts of you are too complex, too sacred, or too contradictory to explain. Sometimes I wonder: if I took off every mask, would I still recognize myself? Or have I become a collage of every impression I’ve tried to make?

I am not so sure, but I read a Japanese legend that says there exist three versions of you:

The first face is for the world, the second is for close friends and family, and the last is only for YOU to see. And I believe it.

Maybe we are all just learning to make peace with the three faces we wear-  to forgive the lies we tell in the name of survival, to understand that hiding doesn’t always mean deceit, and to accept that our truth isn’t a single, perfect version, but a mosaic of every self we’ve ever been.

Because somewhere between who we were, who we pretend to be, and who we are becoming- lies the person we’ve always been searching for.