Keep Chatting

Lately, I’ve been turning over an idea in my head — the mask we all wear. Whether it’s through Instagram, small talk at the bar, or the subtle games we play to signal that we’re ahead of someone else. I’ve started to notice the little nuances: the gossip that floats around, the edge people try to gain, the motives hidden under polite conversation.

Working at the bar has made these patterns clearer. The longer I’m here, the more I see these stones being overturned. I’ve become more aware of the way people carry themselves — their body language, their carefully chosen words. I can tell when someone’s fishing for information. And honestly, I catch myself doing it too. I put on a facade to keep the peace, to make the interaction smooth. It’s a mask, and I wear it more often than I’d like to admit. The more conversations I have, the more I start to understand people — and myself.I love the little community we've built here. I just wish people would be more straightforward. If you want me to throw something away, just ask. I'll do it, or I won’t. But at least it's clear.

But I get it — there’s always a risk in being direct. You open yourself up to rejection, to someone not liking you. Maybe that's why we hide behind masks. Life starts to feel like a masquerade party, where everyone’s intentions are blurred. Maybe that's the price of living in the city — this endless status game. I see it on Instagram, where flirting and self-promotion blend with carefully curated fictions. I know girls that track their stories in their Notes app just to keep the lies straight. It’s wild. And it breeds this low-level paranoia — having to remember all the little things you’ve told different people.

And I say this with full awareness — because I’ve been there too. I’ve lied to see if I could get away with it. I still slip into those habits sometimes. It's unavoidable, or at least, it feels that way. But I think there’s a line — a choice. You can decide when to join in, and when to step back. That’s the part I wrestle with: having faith in my own word, standing by it. I’m working on it.

Just this morning, I broke a promise to myself. I redownloaded Instagram — I wanted to see someone’s story. And while I was there, I stumbled across something else: a post with a Bible verse that asked, Why do you have such little faith? It made me pause — you know that move where you stop the story so you can actually read it? I did that. And I sat with it for a while, really asking myself: why do I have so little faith? I’m conflicted. On one hand, I love the community I’ve found. On the other, I hate the drama. I want to build people up, not get caught in the noise. And yet, I fall sometimes. I break my own boundaries. It’s hard to avoid. And when I do, I struggle to trust myself again — and that stings.

Lately, all the gossip, the lies, the performative games — they’ve started to taste sour to me. I think I finally figured out why: I’m mad at myself. I’ve been lying to myself, telling myself I’m different, that I’m not part of the problem. But I am. I get pulled into the same exaggerations and petty dramas. And now, I’m trying to find the line between what’s harmless and what’s toxic.

This place — this bar, this city — it’s a mirror. It shows you the parts of yourself you’d rather not see. Working in service, you almost have to put on a persona, but I keep wondering: am I finally taking off the mask? Or am I just wearing a different one? That’s the journey I’ve been on — trying to figure out when I’m being real, and when I’m playing the game. Sometimes I get lost in it. But maybe I already wrote my conclusion without realizing it.

The game is catty.

That was the title I once used. About how truth feels like rebellion in a world of fiction. You stick out when you’re honest.

And I want to stick out. I don’t want to fall in line.

So, I’m working on dropping the mask.