When you observe someone from the outside, you see them as they truly are. Yet that person can never really know how they appear in the eyes of others. They believe they are presenting themselves in their finest light – persuasive, charming, compelling.
But to me – the detached observer who refuses to fall for the illusion – the truth often looks absurd. It feels as though I am sitting in the front row of a theater, watching the performance unfold. At times, I even feel the urge to applaud loudly.
Why do people overact? Is it fear – that they won’t be noticed unless they embellish their image? Or are we all, to some degree, actors playing roles that sometimes suit us, and other times resemble poorly written scripts? To me, the entire Poliniano a Mare feels like one vast stage. The actors are far from gifted, and therein lies the problem. I notice everything, while they remain oblivious to the fact that they are even performing. Which leads me to another conclusion – that perhaps they are simply fools.
I watch them – in cafés, on the streets, at the glittering afternoon gatherings of wealthy ladies, in the evenings when the city lights create an illusion of brilliance while concealing fatigue and insecurity.
Some flaunt a confidence so contrived it appears almost grotesque. Others try to impress with elaborate words they cannot even wield correctly. Still others play at being aloof and enigmatic, while desperately craving attention. At times, it seems life here rests entirely on façades – those of buildings, of smiles, of perfectly rehearsed roles. No one seems interested in what lies behind them. Yet the most fascinating are those who have convinced even themselves that they are something greater. The ones who, after years of repeating the same line, have come to believe it. The ones who sincerely cannot fathom why anyone might fail to admire them. They are not acting anymore – they have fused with their masks.
But if anyone dares to be themselves in this spectacle, as I do, they become an inconvenience. A misfit. And then comes the silence. For we all know that in this play, misfits are unwelcome. They are the ones who ruin the performance, who ask uncomfortable questions, who are unafraid to be genuine. If you cannot be categorized, if you refuse to follow the prescribed and accepted script, then you do not belong on this stage.
So is this the truth? That everyone prefers the comfort of deception over the difficulty of honesty?
Or is it simply that I see too much?
And in the end – what remains? Does this theater serve anyone? Or does it, in fact, drive us further apart? Perhaps the greatest challenge is not to convince others that we are something more, but to accept ourselves as we are – without masks, without theatrics. True confidence has no need for spectacle. It simply exists.
But will anyone ever dare to leave the stage?
Licia Franceska