Wearing Someone Else's Clothes

"Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be.”~ Thomas A. Kempis


While shopping for girls clothes at a local department store, a few days ago, I couldn’t help overhearing a mother and daughter arguing while they scanned items on a rack. Frustrated, the mother turned toward another lady and sighed as she conveyed to her friend her inability to convince her daughter to wear ‘girl clothes.’

I briefly glanced at the mother as I walked away – her face was caked with excessive make-up, her hair was painstakingly kept in place by a generous amount of teasing and hairspray, and her attire spoke of a desperate attempt at stopping time and never getting old. The girl seemed just as frustrated as her mother, though her lack discontent was overshadowed by her mother’s imposing will to turn her young princess into a mirrored image of herself.

I left before the mother and daughter finalized any purchases, but as I walked out of the store I thought of how common it is for parents to live through their children, or to see their children as a continuation of themselves. Certainly, we all want to steer our offspring into a direction we believe will be beneficial to them, but is assumption of what is best for them always stemming from a neutral point of sheer good will, or could it be that at times we allow our own perception of things to get in the way?

What is good for one person is not necessarily good for another, even if they share a few pints of blood; similarly, what didn’t work out for one might, instead, be the saving grace of someone else. Imagine, for example, a mother whose dreams were sacrificed in the name of a relationship gone awry; would she keep her own bitter perception to herself, or would she try to convey her disappointment to her daughters, hoping to spare them the same fate? If she does, in fact, allow her personal, negative experiences to influence her teaching, she can rob her daughters of important experiences essential to their own growth as individuals.

I often see parents pushing children toward certain activities, even when their youngsters have no inclination toward them, only because those activities are something THEY would have liked to participate in. While it is nice to provide opportunities for children to spread their wings, their own preferences should be considered before anything else.

I hated sports and loved books, and I am sure there were plenty of times my father cringed when I turned my nose at watching a game with him, but thankfully, he never pushed the issue. My mother and sister lived – and still do, to an extent – for fashion and shopping; well, I didn’t like those either. When it came to recreational activities, I was the proverbial black sheep, but in the end, I liked what I liked, and being forced into the skin of a different person wasn’t going to magically turn me into someone I wasn’t.

Of course, we all have ideas of what we would like to see our children do, but I will always try to keep my two cents into my pockets. Will my sons and daughter follow the paths I think they will take? Maybe, or maybe not, but in the end my goal is to see them happy in the lives they have chosen.

The Masks We Wear (Repost)

Masks are one of the most remarkable manmade creations used in rituals throughout recorded history, used by our ancestors to form a bridge between themselves and the Divine. Though in modern times the mask has a negative connotation of disguise with the intent to deceive, the ancient world perceived masks as tools of revelation, a connection to invisible powers.

“Identity masks” are often worn to hide the vulnerable parts of ourselves, and most of them are molded in response to societal demands, parental suggestions and peer pressure. Most of us wear some sort of mask to introduce ourselves to the world. It is not done to deceive anybody; rather, it is an effort we make to ensure that we are accepted and loved by others. Many feel that they could not be accepted for who they truly are, so they slip the mask on. Sometimes they become so used to doing it, that they are unable themselves to differentiate who they truly are from who they believe people want them to be.

We constantly blame the world for not accepting us for who we are, yet we don’t fully accept ourselves. We would rather go on and be who we are not, rather than recognize that the standards we measure ourselves against are manmade and often based on others’ perceptions of good and bad. The person who lives inside of us may be scared, bruised, shy, but it is rarely bad. The need to hide behind a mask is self-imposed, and as such it can be eliminated.

If we take a glimpse of our true selves, who are we, really? Are we truly the person we are portraying? Or is that person someone our caregivers and societies wanted it to be? Do we really believe what we claim to believe? Do we really despise what we assert to despise? Or have we grown to believe we do just because it would make someone else happy and proud?

What about you? Who is the true self hidden behind your mask?

The King and The Pawn

“At the end of the game, the King and the Pawn always go back in the same box.” ~Author unknown


I rarely run into people who shamelessly flaunt their status. Yesterday was one of those rare occasions. I had gone to the grocery store and ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in quite a while. She introduced me to her new boyfriend, and we decided to go have a cup of coffee after shopping, just to catch up a little.

We had barely sat down, when the boyfriend – we will call him Alan – expressed his disbelief that someone coming from Italy would not be wearing clothes from an Italian designer. After all, he said, Italy is one of the fashion capitals of the world, and he thought all Italians only wore Armani and Gucci.

I took a sip of my coffee as I studied him for a minute – now that he had directed my attention to his lack of depth, I noticed that what he wore was probably worth half my wardrobe.

Since I wasn’t about to justify the fact that I don’t dress up for a trip at the grocery store on a rainy day, I simply responded that I have better things to do with my money than spend hundred of dollars in something I consider useless. To which he replied: “What could be more important than your own image?”

He spent the rest of the time bragging about all his bikes, cars and boat, which he only uses once a year but couldn’t imagine not having. He was so eager to tell me about all his possessions that I began to wonder what was missing in his life.

When he left to go use the restroom, my friend apologized for his behavior, and informed me that his family had always written him off as the black sheep. Since his father often told him he would not amount to anything in life, Alan had consciously strived to prove him wrong. Subconsciously, he had tried to get his father to love him.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of compassion for him – a wounded little boy who had grown to believe he could be accepted only if he had the nicest toys.

By the time he came back, I had almost finished my coffee, and had to get home. I exchanged phone numbers with my friend and I said my goodbyes. Before leaving I hugged them both, and said a small blessing for the boyfriend. I wished for him to see that his belongings could not bring him the love he sought, and that no matter how high he got on the ladder of life, he could not take his material achievements with him when he will leave this world.

I watched him as I walked away - A desperate man glowing in his illusion of wealth; a Pawn in King’s attire who hoped to win the game.