It’s a masquerade ball.
Everyone looks their mighty best; such elegance in their walk, such grace in their talk. They tend to carry a gorgeous smile. They are perfectly groomed walking dolls with smooth, healthy, porcelain skin and hair set stiffly like one of Michelangelo’s own creative sculptures. Their attire for the evening ranges in various shades and their shoes shine in the light declaring their high Italian quality or expensive price.
The music sounds. The beats mysterious and the rhythm divine. The melody cleverly makes its listener sway to it; whether in pairs or single. The twinkly lights are golden to match the surreal mood with shades of red candles all around the hall… an interesting combination to be quite honest; a beautiful one in fact.
But doesn’t this all look too perfect? All too well planned out, all too well disciplined?
Beneath the gloriously elaborate masks lie the eyes that speak. Beneath the contrasting accessories are the untold stories expressed in the many lines on faces. Some carry unforgettable experiences; some carry images they don’t dare share. A few don’t know where they are from, and some more are afraid to be where they are from. Some hiding their abuse, while others cause discrete harassment. And most are afraid to know their future, timid to explore, dreading the uncertainty.
But everyone’s face measures a sign of contempt, sincere happiness, lustful pleasure, or just delight. These faces also have expressed pitiful scowls, ruthless vengeance, callous jealousy, or outright insanity. And who hasn’t concealed their true identities months at a time to win various plays? Or lied to their neighbors? Who hasn’t forged signatures to get lump sums of underserved money? And who hasn’t ever bribed a professor to get their A?
Oh well, just another masked ball.
By: Nabeela Huda
