Been wearing masks for over a year now. It’ll probably be for a bit longer.
I’ve kind of gotten used to it. Accidentally rushing out with a naked face feels weird.
I’ve actually rather enjoyed it.
When it all started, I dug up bandanas that had been stuffed in a drawer since back in the days when Emily and I were janitors. This time it was different, tying ‘em over the face bandido style instead of around the forehead in the careful workingman’s manner that my grandfather taught me. Now I’m covering my mouth instead of soaking up sweat.
Since then, I’ve acquired a large array of colorful bandanas, and more conventional masks.
When you put something on your face you take on a new identity. Sometimes you feel different, other times it’s just other people are seeing you as somebody or something else. It’s a powerful magic that even works in modern, commercialized rituals.
It’s probably the real reason why the anti-mask folks object. They don’t like having to throw a monkey wrench into their fragile façades. Sketchy identities are easily warped, and sometimes the effects can be permanent.
I’ve enjoyed going from loyal worker to postmodern bandido to explorer of the stargate corridor to agent of the psychedelic bat squadron. I think it’s only made me more loco Ernesto than ever. But then I’ve always known who and what I am.
Others have undergone changes, some that they didn’t want, or aren’t even aware of.
The world has changed.
I think it’s a good thing.