I wear many masks. Dress-up masks that let me assume new identities on holidays or when acting. Defensive masks that conceal pain and protect me from getting hurt. Façades that I put on to compensate for weaknesses and cover up insecurities. But nowadays, I’ve added a new mask, and unlike the other masks I wear, this one reveals more about me than it hides.
There’s nothing pretty about my COVID mask. Blue and sterile, tri-ply and functional, it matches neither my outfits nor my moods. No flower prints, unicorns, or painted smiles for me. No music notes, leopard spots, herringbone or lace. Perhaps it’s just a matter of time.
