And here he was again, heading to a city full of all kinds of people, struggling to live while hiding their heads in insensitive shells beneath the voices of others.
Every time Yuta observed how other beings of his same kind allowed themselves to be trampled simply for being different, he couldn't help but feel confused. Even today, he still couldn't fully understand it.
For example, those young students walking beside him were noisy; most likely, they now pretended to be friends, but in reality, none of them tolerated each other. Fake smiles, behaviors they couldn't show in front of their parents or the person they liked: only the bottom layer of the masks everyone wore.
How did he know? Because the culture of peoples can be mysterious, enigmatic, and full of ancestral wisdom. Ancestors were endowed with knowledge that, in their time, was advanced—like Erving Goffman's three masks.
The first mask is the one we show the world: something static, rarely changing. It includes everyday gestures, like saying "hello" to a stranger, thanking someone, or something as simple as helping another person.
Is he the only one who asks what this mask truly means?
It was the behavior society expected: be responsible, kind, dedicated; show respect to others while they returned it. But Yuta wondered how long people had worn that mask, and whether they wore it even when no one was watching.
Throughout his days, he encountered the second mask, which disgusted him the most: the one we show to our friends and family. In it, people become affectionate, protective, loving… or at least that's what they think. It was the mask that made its wearer most vulnerable, opening the door to being easily hurt. Yuta felt a mix of superiority and fascination at it.
Then he asked himself, full of curiosity: where was his true self? The third mask, the most hidden, was the real one: the one no one could know.
Isn't that what people should show to be truly understood? Yuta found it hilarious to think that anyone could love a person who showed their true face. It would be hypocritical, he thought.
While reflecting on this, he allowed himself to mock both himself and others: would you love me if I said I completely despise cats? Probably not. And if I confessed to having killed more than one person? Doubt would arise. And if those people were rapists? Even then, judgments would continue despite his act of heroism.
Right now, playing with the minds around him, Yuta had penetrated the deepest levels of other people's consciousness. Every gesture, every decision they made, revealed who they were and what they could mean in his life.
As he looked at his reflection in the train window, he thought about all the things he could still learn, what he would eat when he got home, which book he would read, or what the next topic would be that he would delve into to expand his knowledge.
"How many faces do I have?" Yuta had asked himself this some time ago. The answer was simple: many, between ten and twenty depending on the situation, always using the mask that offered him the greatest advantage at the moment.
The face reflected in the glass was one of flesh, bone, skin, and fat. A face that, in modern times, gained value for its appearance: perfect skin, a symmetrical face, balanced proportions.
His could be considered good: wavy hair down to his chin, black eyes like the abyss itself, and skin so pale that it had driven him to tattoo every inch of his back with a map—Piri Reis and Columbus—a symbol of the path a man can visualize in his journey and of how Yuta aspired to create his own.
He had a unique trait; it wasn't a face that made people scream, but one that became attractive the more it was appreciated. But he didn't care; skin ages, wrinkles, and everyone follows the same path.
Setting appearance aside, his long hair made him look like an ordinary person within certain standards. Running a hand across his face, he moved a lock aside to get a better look at the path ahead.
"You have reached your destination. Have a good day." The loudspeaker announced, as Yuta prepared to get off.
Exiting the train, Yuta walked slowly among the crowd before freeing himself from that suffocating place. After several minutes, he reached one of his favorite spots in the city: the Shibuya crossing.
This simple spot could offer one of the most impressive images of Tokyo, and possibly the world. It was the busiest crossing on the planet, known as the "Scramble," and the only reason Yuta enjoyed this place was that he could watch more than two thousand people cross it every two minutes.
Thousands of faces presented themselves before his eyes, each with a different mask. The spectacle gave him a unique feeling of life, impossible to express with simple words.
He approached a massive mural and leaned his body against it, breathing quietly as he gazed again at the crowd. Fake smiles, fleeting amusements, lives full of problems passing before him in just a few seconds.
He picked up a Rubik's cube and began solving it without taking his eyes entirely off the crowd. With just one glance at the disordered faces, his fingers worked in sync with his mind while his thoughts wandered to pleasant, trivial matters.
A 3x3 cube has infinite combinations, unique and precise movements that allow it to be solved in the shortest possible time with the fewest moves. World records demonstrated how powerful such a small object could be, capable of fitting in the palm of your hand.
As he moved through the crowd, Yuta kept his face alert, training his observation skills: how many people wore blue shirts? How many women, elderly, or children passed before his eyes? Each guess was a step closer to the truth, an attempt to read the scene unfolding before him accurately.
Crack!
The sound made him look down. The pressure applied to the cube had dislodged a piece. What a nuisance; one more move and he would have completed it.
"Here, someone almost stepped on it," said a female voice beside him.
Yuta turned, reached for the fallen piece, and responded naturally: "Oh, thanks."
After taking a few steps forward, Yuta extended his hand and smiled, thanking the person for taking the trouble to pick up something he would likely have lost otherwise.