Why social masking started feeling like personality

The music is loud enough that everyone has to lean slightly closer to talk.

A girl near me is halfway through a dating story everyone else seems instantly invested in.

Everyone laughs.

I laugh too.

Half a second behind everyone else.

Just enough time to make sure my reaction fits.

I adjust myself before I fully notice I’m doing it.

Drop the shoulders.
Unclench the jaw.
Soften the eyes.

I reach for my drink so I have something to do with my hands.

The conversation keeps moving.

I’m listening, but another part of me is listening to myself at the same time.

I almost never say my opinion first.

I wait.
Listen to where the room is leaning.

And if I do say something,
I usually wonder afterward:

Did I say that correctly?
Too offensive?
Or too forgettable?

Sometimes I rewrite texts three or four times before sending them.

Deleting a sentence.
Removing an exclamation mark.
Trying to sound less affected than I actually am.

The strange part is,
it all feels normal to me.

That’s probably why it took me so long to notice.

I catch myself shifting depending on who I’m around.

Louder here, softer there. 
More playful around some, more careful around others.

Too many people in one room still exhaust me sometimes.

Too many versions of myself appearing at once.

Growing up,
I learned quickly that moods mattered.

Especially the quieter ones.

The weight of a footstep.
The sound of a cupboard closing.
Questions answered one word shorter than usual.

Nothing obvious enough to explain.

Just enough to feel.

I became sensitive to shifts most people missed.

Silences stretching half a second too long.
A face changing slightly.
Someone’s eyes drifting away.

The feeling of a room tightening before anyone says anything.

I learned to read rooms before entering them.

I think some of that started long before adulthood.

Then I moved continents.

Asia.
Europe.
America.

Different rules everywhere.

Too loud here.
Too quiet there.

Too Asian.
Not Asian enough.

London liked restraint.

Lower voices.
Keeping to yourself.
Not making a scene.

California prefers warmth.

Eye contact.
Immediate openness.
Smiling before you fully mean it.

At work,
people called me emotionally intelligent.

“The silent power,”
my manager once wrote in my annual review.

I remember feeling proud of it then.

In friendships,
easygoing.

On dates,
easy to talk to.

And every now and then,
I catch myself doing it in real time.

Softening an opinion before it fully lands.
Changing the subject when I feel uncomfortable.
Laughing before I’ve even decided whether something is funny.

Especially when I didn’t hear them properly the first time.

And sometimes,
I forget to perform for a few seconds.

It feels dangerous almost immediately.