In the City of Smiles crying is forbidden and everyone wears a porcelain smile. 8 questions about the mask you hide behind, what it gives you and how to take it off, bit by bit.
Inspired by the animated series City of Smiles by Antonia Airis. A game and a reason to think, not a diagnosis. If things have been hard for a long time and seriously, please talk to someone close to you or to a professional.
None of them is bad. Each one once saved you. The trouble starts only when a mask grows into your face. And sometimes there is no mask at all.
You’ve been enduring so long you no longer notice it.
Your mask is quiet and polite, held together with thin threads. You carry a lot and complain little, and people lean on you because you never fall. The cost: everyone, you included, forgets that you get tired too.
You mend yourself with gold so no one sees the cracks.
Your mask has been broken many times, and every time you repaired it yourself, beautifully, with gold. You see other people’s pain and help without being asked. You find it much harder to let anyone help you.
You make everyone laugh so no one asks how you are.
Your mask grins from ear to ear and jingles with little bells. With you it’s warm and light, you can turn any disaster into a story. But a joke is also a door you close before anyone gets too close.
You keep order because chaos is scarier.
Your mask is perfectly symmetrical, its smile drawn with a ruler. Everything rests on you: plans, rules, lists. People trust you. But rules sometimes stand in for feelings, and loved ones see the inspector rather than the person.
You froze once so it would stop hurting.
Your mask is made of frosted glass: cool, calm, untouchable. Others think nothing reaches you. But behind the frost there is still a small warm light, and that’s exactly what you protect so carefully.
You talk about everything so you don’t have to talk about yourself.
Your mask raises one eyebrow and holds a lorgnette. You have an opinion on everything and the courage to voice it. But an opinion is not a fact, and sometimes behind the lecture is a simple wish: to finally be heard.
You’re so good at being liked that you’ve forgotten what you like.
Your mask is pink, sweet, with painted hearts and ribbons. You sense what others want before they say it. People adore you. But a “yes” said out of fear of losing someone slowly erases your own “I want”.
You keep running so the silence can’t catch up with you.
Your mask ticks: clock faces instead of ornaments, a smile like a clock hand. You get a hundred things done a day and everyone admires your energy. But being busy is also a hiding place, because in the silence the feelings would come.
Congratulations: you have no mask. In the City of Smiles that is almost a miracle.
You can say how you really are, ask for help, say no and cry when it hurts. Sometimes you put on a mask too, everyone does, but you know how to take it off. Next to you, other people breathe more freely.