El sueno es siempre igual.

I leap onto the top rope, glancing only briefly at my opponent. He lies on the canvas in perfect position.

I leap and twist just the way my maestro taught me.

As I straighten out for landing, the rudo I had so carefully positioned is gone. In his place is my father. He wears the same mask as I do. He raises his knees and I crash onto them. The air jets from my lungs as I reel from confusion and betrayal.

Before I can recover, I am covered for the 3 count.

Then the indignity really begins.

My own father grabs my mask and begins to untie it. I struggle, but not too much. He is my father after all. He loosens the mask enough and yanks it off of my head.

The crowd gasps.

I reach to cover my face. As my hands touch my flesh, I reel in horror. There is no nose. There is no mouth. There are no eyes. There is only the skin that held la mascara in place.

I awake in a pool of sweat.

It is like that every time. If I lose the mask, I lose my identity.

I put my feet on the cabin floor and give them a moment to adjust to the rocking of the ocean. Then I climb the ladder onto the deck.

The Pacific night is as black save for the myriad of twinkling stars.

I named the boat El Sueno for a reason.

In a few short days I will sail into San Diego and dock in my slip. Then I will board a plane to Boston for the biggest event of my life.

La Mascara joins the WWA.

It is the biggest event in the history of La Mascara. A lot is riding on me.

I touch my nose to make sure it is still there.

Out here, away from it all I am me. La Mascara lives only in pictures and peliculas. Out here I am simply Cristobal. Out here I owe nothing to anyone. Out here I am free.

I am very proud to carry on my family’s legacy. I am equally proud to represent lucha libre in the WWA.

However, on nights like this, I wish they would all just leave me be.

El sueno es siempre igual.

Perhaps, starting in Boston, I can change it.

Perhaps.