This day–17 July–is World Emoji Day.
It’s about faces–frozen in planned expression.
It’s all about the masks we wear–
To placate.
To please.
To calm.
But do they placate, please or calm–ourselves?
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Mr. Ding was that constant ghost in the neighbourhood–always smiling, in a suit so well-pressed that irons would heat up in shame. He loomed on one’s memory, like ivy weaving through windows; silent, sudden, impossible to miss. The children spoke of him, unsure whether he was waiting–about the house with lights that flashed dim, dying signals, struggling to keep time.
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The air wrapped its heavy arms around Mr. Ding’s home on Halloween night, but it didn’t seem to have caught the joyfully screaming children on the street.
Still, the lights around his house flickered impatiently, almost aggressively–in slow, twisted time.
Little Liya knocked his front door, driven by candy canes and Hershey’s kisses.
Mr. Ding finally opened it—after a full half hour.
He smiled—in a thin line.
“Trick or treat,” the basket in Liya’s hands trembled.
No candy. He put something else in her hands.
A mask.
“It will keep you safe.” The chill in his eyes didn’t match his smile.
Liya grasped the mask in her hands–one that covered more than she knew
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The air wrapped its heavy arms around Mr. Ding’s home on Halloween night, but it didn’t seem to have caught the joyfully screaming children on the street.
Still, the lights around his house flickered impatiently, almost aggressively–in slow, twisted time.
Little Liya knocked his front door, driven by candy canes and Hershey’s kisses.
Mr. Ding finally opened it—after a full half hour.
He smiled—in a thin line.
“Trick or treat,” the basket in Liya’s hands trembled.
No candy. He put something else in her hands.
A mask.
“It will keep you safe.” The chill in his eyes didn’t match his smile.
Liya grasped the mask in her hands–one that covered more than she knew.
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Liya walked away from Mr Ding’s home, her steps anchored by an unseen weight. Halloween revellers scattered all over the path before her, walking with joy that was–
Off.
Children walked by her without a glance backwards. She was transparent glass to the adults.
And her voice? It wasn’t her own. Her mother acknowledged that with a pale face.
The mask wasn’t in her hands.
She glanced at herself in the hallway mirror.
A shriek that nearly broke it.
She made desperate clutches at her face.
No feeling.
Her smile wouldn’t disappear.
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Halloween returned a year later, with Liya at home.
Her silhouette in the window.
Passersby who looked up walked past faster than their legss would carry them.
She couldn’t move. Wouldn’t– or couldn’t–talk.
But she could smile.
It was the only thing she could do.
Mr. Ding’s home no longer flickered– the pulse of the lights were even.
Satisfied.
There were knocks on Mr. Ding’s door.
Another child. Just a child.
Naively asking for treats.
At least, until Mr. Ding and Liya opened the door.
And Liya held out a tray, the permanent smile stretched across her face.
With a mask that he would wear to placate someone. Please someone. Calm someone.
But not himself.
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