When I think of “my identity”, I think, “The naturally straight-A son, the church goer who worships God, the boy who likes girls. This is me. This is who I am.”

But I say this as I wear a mask.

Though it’s something I really should not wear, when I think of who I really am, I am afraid, I am scared.

With my religious mother and my traditional father, I hide,

in the depths of secrets, in solidity of fear.

Deceptions. Dishonesty. Deceit.

The mask repairs itself every minute, every second. Never letting me just be me.

“People judge, friends react, family feel.”

These are the thoughts, the ideas, which consume me day after day after day.

I question myself.

If I am judged like the cover of a book, through one performance on the stage of presentation, who am I? What is it that makes me, me?

Am I truly this mask made of lies, or is the real me beneath?

Am I the values that come with the color of my skin, the religious beliefs my family carries, the expectations I am given?

Or am I the student who can’t handle the pressures of attaining a good grade constantly, the boy who believes but still questions God, the son who likes boys but gives up and will not give in.

Despite all the deceptions and unanswered questions, every day I remind myself

You are not the mask. There is more to you than this man-made illusion.

I am what is beneath the mask, a person who is not like anyone else, a son who loves freely; a boy who will be free.