Here I am, at the Oscar’s. Behind the scenes, obviously. Wearing black PJs and a flashy red “kimono” with golden dragons. Hair tied in some kind of a messy bun. Make-up – none. I have no clue what I am doing here.
I decide to leave. The only available exit is across the red carpet, towards the stream of limousines that steadily belch out glossy stars like on some weird conveyor belt.
I manage to pass by unnoticed, hiding my eyes from the camera flashes. At the street, safely protected by the cheering crowd, I decide to go back inside. This time, bravely striding over the red carpet itself.
All of the sudden, the cheering crowds go quiet, start whispering, looking my way and pointing fingers. A wave of aaahs and ooohs spreads over like a forest fire. I can hear them saying to each other Look at her! What is she wearing? That hair! No make-up?!?
Judging, belittling, accusing…
Ashamed and with tears in my eyes I run inside to the dressing room, close the door and look at myself in the mirror.
I wake up.
I can’t stop thinking about this dream, about this pressure to fit in, to play according to rules established by a random group, and how easy it is to cave, to give in, especially if that has been the soundtrack of our life.
– You shouldn’t have said that! because he is a man, because they are older, because you are properly raised, because he is your boss, because you’re going to lose your job, because he will leave you!
– You are a lady, ladies do not question the rules, they obey them, with grace!
It’s high time to stop playing that old broken record!