Are we really happy in this lonely game we play… (This Masquerade by Leon Russell)

Several months ago, I sang this song for a worship service led by my friend, Mike Jenkins, at our Unitarian Universalist congregation. The song was a good fit to the main message: take off your mental masks so we can have more authentic relationships with each other. To demonstrate the point, every presenter was asked to wear a mask and take it off as the service progressed.

As a long-time Carpenters’ fan, I loved the song. But I rarely sang such a song in public before. While waiting for the worship service to start, I was feeling more and more apprehensive about it. Once the music started, however, I was swaying and crooning like I had never done before in front of a couple of hundred people. Even when I messed up a couple of times, I kept my cool. The mask’s protective power was definitely palpable.

I had created a female mask of Noh and under the mask wore a Kabuki-inspired makeup.

After the song, I told a story of growing up in Japan, not wanting to conform to the social pressure to be a cute, nice girl. Because I was unhappy, I said, I wore no expression at all, just like the Noh mask. Then I revealed the red and black makeup that represented my indignation. Can we build a community in which we don’t have to wear a mask? I asked.

Ironically, this was the first time I experienced the power of masks. I felt incredibly safe being invisible under the mask. Its small eyeholes prevented me from seeing very much, so I was less distracted, too. When I removed the mask I felt much more exposed.

Masks—not only makeups but also expressions we wear to hide our true selves from time to time—allow us to ‘sort of’ fit in. Sometimes they seem essential for survival. We are trained to wear a certain mask for each occasion. Some of us may believe that the most frequently used mask is actually their real face.

When we want to build authentic relationships, however, masks can get in the way because we can’t see each other clearly.

Masks are powerful, and the temptation to wear one is strong. As I rip one off, another one seems to emerge from underneath. Will I ever see my real face? Or is this like peeling an onion when all layers are gone there is nothing left?