I used to act, on stage, once upon a time. I loved the stage. I suppose I still do. There, cloaked in costumes, reviving lines from a time gone, I stole the words of writers and poets and delivered them as my own. I would be completely, utterly, pulled into that world. The lights, the drama, the passion, and the pretending. The ability to shift skins, trade lives and be a character not me but so mine. The thrill of being cast a role, the chance to be someone else. I understand how its cliché and cheesy – the whole ‘I get to be someone else’ but there is a magic to it, an escape, an opportunity.
The odd part of theatrics, the irony I find, is in how the better you are at being someone else, the more applauded you are. Compliments are plentiful when you portray someone so unlike you, when you step out of yourself. I wonder if that teaches us that we should always be a façade.
Sometimes, I wonder, if I’m acting everyday.