- Studies have shown we recognise happy emotions from scanning the lower half of other faces and negative feelings from the top half. In a city where everyone is wearing a mask, the emotions that register these days are panic and anger
I've worn a mask every day for the past month. The first few days I'd forget it in the morning. I'd stand in the lift and look at myself in the mirror before suddenly realising, "Shoot! My mask," and then I'd make my way back upstairs, awkwardly smiling at the guard as I pass by him again.
But, by now, it has become routine " phone, keys, wallet, mask. I tie little loops into the strings to keep the mask tighter around my face. I pinch the wire around my nose and pull the fabric down over my chin. Ten hours a day I'm anonymous. Expressionless. Shielded in baby blue.
It's been days since the last time I saw a new face. Instead, what I see now are layers of polypropylene. Rows upon rows of faces hidden behind masks. All pulled up to the rims of glasses, to the bridge of the nose. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, but not a single cheek, lip or nose. A rare few nostrils do escape the grip of the mask " usually on a young child whose parent has yet to notice or a commuter who is asleep, mouth agape.
I look around me, at the various shades of surgical blue and wonder what it does to a human to not see faces, except for a select few, for weeks at a time. Studies have shown that we recognise happy emotions from scanning the lower half of other faces, and negative emotions from the top half.
And so, amid a sea of masked faces, it seems to be mostly negative emotions and germs that are floating around. There's a constant feeling of panic, a fear of shortages of everything, and a daily rain of bad news. And worst of all " a lack of humanity.
Xenophobic sentiment and increasing anger at the government have marked recent weeks. As the epidemic worsens, we seem to be losing the last vestige of our humanity whenever we put on a mask. It's much easier to fight somebody over a roll of toilet paper if you can't see their face.
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Face ID doesn't recognise our faces, Snapchat filters don't stick to a mask. It's rare when a smile beams so bright it comes through the mask and fills the eyes.
I tell my boyfriend about a funny parody song I saw on Twitter. Kathy Mak, a local performer, did a cover of Natalie Imbruglia's Torn, with new lyrics about the coronavirus outbreak. "I can't find bok choy no more …" she sings. "There's dust in my eye, but if I touch it I might die."
I recite the lyrics eagerly and glare at his face to see if he's smiling. He'd better be. This stuff is hilarious. But it's late and the lighting in the minibus is minimal, so I can't quite tell.
It's an isolating feeling. At a time when many of us spend days alone in our shoebox apartments, we feel lonelier when we step out and can't tell if others are also lonely underneath their masks.
Hongkongers are not the most expressive people to begin with, but it's near impossible to convey emotion with a third of the face. I see masks move, inflating and deflating, as people breathe. I know they are flesh and bone, just like me, but behind masks they seem so alien.
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I find myself missing expressions. I want to see teenagers smiling at their phone screens when that right person texts them. I want to see aunties cooing over babies when they FaceTime family members. And most of all, I want a smile from a friendly stranger. A sign of mutual understanding: I see you, I feel the same.
Not wearing masks doesn't seem to be an option. Health and safety should come first. But when schools are closed and most employers recommend working from home, we miss out on the social interactions we used to take for granted.
We must find other ways to connect with one another, at a time when social gatherings are more than discouraged. Reach out, don't become a stranger just because you feel anonymous. Don't fight a stranger over the last bag of rice. Don't let Hong Kong become a city with no faces.
Teele Rebane is a journalism student at the University of Hong Kong. Find her on twitter @teelerebane2
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