Take this as fiction? Then please do!! Depends on what you want to believe ^^ ~
But to the man who will come to love all my scars, too, I would suggest reading this while poised comfortably at a corner somewhere, with quite a lot of time to read this, take it in, and to perhaps re-read this before you choose to fall in love with me over what you read, and before you come to love all my scars, too.
***
Women and scars do not seem to always agree with each other. Sometimes, I think of one-sided love when I think of the two together; the scars keep pursuing the woman, but she doesn't like any of the attention and succeeds a little in evading most of it, and most often when the scars do get to the woman, it is as if they are in a hate-hate arranged marriage that took place in front of a thousand guests with the bride and groom both from respectable, "high-class" families in the society and thus breaking away from the marriage will be tough--the scars will run deep and will be forever etched on to the woman's skin.
If perhaps boiled down to one word, scars on a woman are perceived "ugly" by both her and the society, but on a man however, these lighting-like marks are looked upon as..."beautiful bravery" (Am I right or am I right?) Why should it be called so, why this larger-than-life exaggerated difference when there are just some streaks on the skins of the 2 largely recognized genders? Well, I am not going to bother answering that question because that will never probably exist within my scope of interest, as I care not for what the world wants one to think, but only about what one really wants to think.
But to continue further, let us agree on the note that scars on the skin of women are considered ugly by most of the societies, that they are viewed as unsightly abominations that should be tried with the utmost effort to erase and dispel for good.
A very common example for this would be the always omnipresent, fancifully worded "tiger stripes," or in cringe-evincing words, them "stretch marks". To be honest, which person does exist who does not have any one of these? Everybody does, yes? Models on the air-brushed, photoshopped covers of glossy and expensive magazines don't have them yes, but they do have them off of those covers.
Initially, I was under the impression that only women who have mothered would have these marks, and later I came to understand that those who undertake dangerous fasts for a long time in a fit of depression to try reducing weight will also have them, and there was a time when I had counted myself among the latter for a period of time whose briefness had a seriously damaging impact on my thoughts and self-confidence.
Not many children might give a fleeting thought about wanting to look at their body before a mirror at home with a seriously self-conscious point of view and I was the same. Sure, I might have had my "tiger stripes" for a long while but I never truly noticed them until I had a boyfriend of my own at the age of seventeen.
All through my childhood, there was not a day where I was ashamed of how who I was, of how I looked, how much I weighed...well, simply put, I did not like anything about myself and thus my confidence levels were always, always at the bottom of the seabed.
And then, my boyfriend happened. For whatever period of time I was his and he mine, it was beautiful, and incredibly amazing. I take this line from the Twilight novels but he was really "like the sun," too bright, positive, healthy, very encouraging and always loving. He would always talk about how he loved me for whom I truly was, in every way, while accentuating it with loving kisses and gentle nuzzling.
He kept me going when I really did not want to at all. He was my happy sun.
It was while with him that I noticed more about my body, though I should have retrospected more on my self instead. It is now too late to realize this but I do so with a smile. I saw the vast scattering of the stretch marks on my body, and in my mind I saw him being disgusted with what he saw on me. In reality, that never happened, the "sun" kept on shining no matter what, but in my ever negative thinking, that was always the case.
That was about 4 years ago from now and he is now no more my sun indeed. But that is not the story I choose to recount. He was a beautiful part of me in every way but now only in my very rare thoughts. The crux here however, is that this was my first encounter with my scars, the very first time that I noticed them, and how much I resented them "with every fiber in my being".
***
A wonderful state of near-nirvana was what I came into sometime in 2016 after finishing up with university classes, and it was exactly then that I became whom I now am; I laughed out at how silly my negativeness had always been when there was never anything to fret over in the first place, and I realized that there was never any reason to resent my scars or resent anything about my self. Why choose to self-inflict hurt over something that is not even worth it? Why not be happy with what is in my palm, and in me or on my face and body?
It was exactly then that I became more carefree than ever before and did what I wanted to, speak and do what I really wanted to. Now, that sort of carefree attitude is the type that will bring about more scars and physical..."damage" --> I would ride my cycle faster and if I fell, I would fall and get hurt, and earn a scar or two. But I would love the thrill that it brought, the absolute learning experience that it brought, and I definitely adored the "newness" of that experience and the pure simple-minded bliss it brought when I accept the hurt, choose to embrace it and move on with a smile.
I would paint the switches at home in yellow and blue and accidentally stain some paint on a favorite t-shirt and that blotch would never go away. I would try to cut something in the kitchen and accidentally hurt myself. I would walk out in the rain to simply do it and get wet. I would laugh out loud at something silly I see on my phone (a refreshing, humane habit I picked up from the ex-boyfriend). I would sob until I was breathless over a silly sad scene. I would quit work for a day or two just to finish reading a new romantic manga series I found online.
I would wave to happiness and sadness with both hands and welcome them as friends, clasp their palms tight and love them equally for I saw more thrill, novelty and rich instances of rewarding learning from whatever they brought about.
This was last year, in 2016. It is now the end of August, 2017.
Today, I can cheerfully recount a few of the scars that I earned after the near-nirvana stage started out -- scars which I would have wanted to get rid off no matter what, even just a few years before.
Yesterday, on 2017 August 28, when it could have been around 08:50 in the morning, I had an accident and it was this that prompted this rather long blog entry. I noticed that ever since I started accepting life for what it is, accidents constantly befall me and to be truthful, most of them are not my fault but are mere, freak incidents that happen in a flash.
The fall on the 28th made me aware that it is not just simple things or little scars that I need to learn to accept but also bigger, more serious things...like accidents, permanent damages that will cripple out my dreams of being physically active. This scares me like nothing ever has. I wonder if this is some sort of punishment for wanting to live life happily and being content with whatever I am faced with?
The very thought that I will not be able to walk 4 km in a stretch and be ready for another bout of cycling, that I will not be able to trek as much as I want, that I will not be able to conquer a circuit or two of cycling or trekking, or try my hand at scuba-diving and swim until I am out of breath, that I won't be able to share physical love with the man who comes to love me without the pain flaring from my past wounds scares me more than my phobia of butterflies has ever done or ever will. The grave, impending events that could leave me handicapped at living life out like I have been for the last year has left my mind at a very vulnerable state.
I cry a bit about it, and when the tears have dried, I let out a "Feh" and go into a numbing silence -- over and over, all my life so far, I have become numb to mental pain and suffering. But this new addition of also having to regularly experience physical pain is something I do not like, and is something I truly fear very much.
An infant when he falls down hard, will not probably cry that much if he is alone, but when he is surrounded by somebody else who show him some sympathetic looks, he bursts out instantly and wails like there is no tomorrow.
Right after I fell from my scooter, I faced a most excruciating pain in my left knee as it directly crashed into the road, and my usual strong resolve went crumbling when I realized immediately that this could take away something big from my...being.
About 3 people passing by instantly came rushing to my help and were most kind, and I am much, much grateful for them for if not for them, my hand or fingers might have been crushed by a bus...
I was the super-strong lady who wouldn't bat a wet eyelid despite having had a very bad fall in front of them. But when I bade them goodbyes and proceeded to ride back to my workplace, I sobbed uncontrollably hard because...because I felt lost at how all of the utterly wretched things happen to me over and over, and because I never deserve them! Well now, nobody ever deserves all the bad things that happen to them in the world over, true, but at that moment when you have just been landed a blow, it is only yourself that you think of and not the world. I had to repeatedly chant out loud that it is going to be okay, that nothing will happen, that even if something did happen and if it would leave me locked out from the life I want to live, it is okay, that I will still find a way back into it, a way back into doing what I love.
Today is 2017 August 30, and I am continuing this blog entry. I am still calm and composed at my situation, my self-consolation as typed-in above still ring in my mind, but I still fear.
I have resigned and reigned in my feelings and chosen to accept whatever comes my way and I will never regret that. But yet, I fear that which will come my way. Is this fear rational or...not? That is rather out of importance for me though...
What do I fear? Well, I sort of mentioned that way above, but it is not just for myself that I fear.
Earlier,
When hurt, the body and mind need to rest and recuperate to get back to at least half of what its stance was before the healing process started out.
I hope that the man who will come to love me, if he is as broad-minded as I thought or would think on falling in love with him, will not be surprised at my stretch marks or the scars that I have garnered over the years, and more than that, I hope he would not be as surprised at the physical ones I will garner in the years to come even while trying to do the silliest of things.
I have become a child of the earth now, taking in whatever life brings to me, and am content with keeping it close to me.
But to the man who will come to love all my scars, too, I would suggest reading this while poised comfortably at a corner somewhere, with quite a lot of time to read this, take it in, and to perhaps re-read this before you choose to fall in love with me over what you read, and before you come to love all my scars, too.
***
Women and scars do not seem to always agree with each other. Sometimes, I think of one-sided love when I think of the two together; the scars keep pursuing the woman, but she doesn't like any of the attention and succeeds a little in evading most of it, and most often when the scars do get to the woman, it is as if they are in a hate-hate arranged marriage that took place in front of a thousand guests with the bride and groom both from respectable, "high-class" families in the society and thus breaking away from the marriage will be tough--the scars will run deep and will be forever etched on to the woman's skin.
If perhaps boiled down to one word, scars on a woman are perceived "ugly" by both her and the society, but on a man however, these lighting-like marks are looked upon as..."beautiful bravery" (Am I right or am I right?) Why should it be called so, why this larger-than-life exaggerated difference when there are just some streaks on the skins of the 2 largely recognized genders? Well, I am not going to bother answering that question because that will never probably exist within my scope of interest, as I care not for what the world wants one to think, but only about what one really wants to think.
But to continue further, let us agree on the note that scars on the skin of women are considered ugly by most of the societies, that they are viewed as unsightly abominations that should be tried with the utmost effort to erase and dispel for good.
A very common example for this would be the always omnipresent, fancifully worded "tiger stripes," or in cringe-evincing words, them "stretch marks". To be honest, which person does exist who does not have any one of these? Everybody does, yes? Models on the air-brushed, photoshopped covers of glossy and expensive magazines don't have them yes, but they do have them off of those covers.
Initially, I was under the impression that only women who have mothered would have these marks, and later I came to understand that those who undertake dangerous fasts for a long time in a fit of depression to try reducing weight will also have them, and there was a time when I had counted myself among the latter for a period of time whose briefness had a seriously damaging impact on my thoughts and self-confidence.
Not many children might give a fleeting thought about wanting to look at their body before a mirror at home with a seriously self-conscious point of view and I was the same. Sure, I might have had my "tiger stripes" for a long while but I never truly noticed them until I had a boyfriend of my own at the age of seventeen.
All through my childhood, there was not a day where I was ashamed of how who I was, of how I looked, how much I weighed...well, simply put, I did not like anything about myself and thus my confidence levels were always, always at the bottom of the seabed.
And then, my boyfriend happened. For whatever period of time I was his and he mine, it was beautiful, and incredibly amazing. I take this line from the Twilight novels but he was really "like the sun," too bright, positive, healthy, very encouraging and always loving. He would always talk about how he loved me for whom I truly was, in every way, while accentuating it with loving kisses and gentle nuzzling.
He kept me going when I really did not want to at all. He was my happy sun.
It was while with him that I noticed more about my body, though I should have retrospected more on my self instead. It is now too late to realize this but I do so with a smile. I saw the vast scattering of the stretch marks on my body, and in my mind I saw him being disgusted with what he saw on me. In reality, that never happened, the "sun" kept on shining no matter what, but in my ever negative thinking, that was always the case.
That was about 4 years ago from now and he is now no more my sun indeed. But that is not the story I choose to recount. He was a beautiful part of me in every way but now only in my very rare thoughts. The crux here however, is that this was my first encounter with my scars, the very first time that I noticed them, and how much I resented them "with every fiber in my being".
***
A wonderful state of near-nirvana was what I came into sometime in 2016 after finishing up with university classes, and it was exactly then that I became whom I now am; I laughed out at how silly my negativeness had always been when there was never anything to fret over in the first place, and I realized that there was never any reason to resent my scars or resent anything about my self. Why choose to self-inflict hurt over something that is not even worth it? Why not be happy with what is in my palm, and in me or on my face and body?
It was exactly then that I became more carefree than ever before and did what I wanted to, speak and do what I really wanted to. Now, that sort of carefree attitude is the type that will bring about more scars and physical..."damage" --> I would ride my cycle faster and if I fell, I would fall and get hurt, and earn a scar or two. But I would love the thrill that it brought, the absolute learning experience that it brought, and I definitely adored the "newness" of that experience and the pure simple-minded bliss it brought when I accept the hurt, choose to embrace it and move on with a smile.
I would paint the switches at home in yellow and blue and accidentally stain some paint on a favorite t-shirt and that blotch would never go away. I would try to cut something in the kitchen and accidentally hurt myself. I would walk out in the rain to simply do it and get wet. I would laugh out loud at something silly I see on my phone (a refreshing, humane habit I picked up from the ex-boyfriend). I would sob until I was breathless over a silly sad scene. I would quit work for a day or two just to finish reading a new romantic manga series I found online.
I would wave to happiness and sadness with both hands and welcome them as friends, clasp their palms tight and love them equally for I saw more thrill, novelty and rich instances of rewarding learning from whatever they brought about.
This was last year, in 2016. It is now the end of August, 2017.
Today, I can cheerfully recount a few of the scars that I earned after the near-nirvana stage started out -- scars which I would have wanted to get rid off no matter what, even just a few years before.
Yesterday, on 2017 August 28, when it could have been around 08:50 in the morning, I had an accident and it was this that prompted this rather long blog entry. I noticed that ever since I started accepting life for what it is, accidents constantly befall me and to be truthful, most of them are not my fault but are mere, freak incidents that happen in a flash.
The fall on the 28th made me aware that it is not just simple things or little scars that I need to learn to accept but also bigger, more serious things...like accidents, permanent damages that will cripple out my dreams of being physically active. This scares me like nothing ever has. I wonder if this is some sort of punishment for wanting to live life happily and being content with whatever I am faced with?
The very thought that I will not be able to walk 4 km in a stretch and be ready for another bout of cycling, that I will not be able to trek as much as I want, that I will not be able to conquer a circuit or two of cycling or trekking, or try my hand at scuba-diving and swim until I am out of breath, that I won't be able to share physical love with the man who comes to love me without the pain flaring from my past wounds scares me more than my phobia of butterflies has ever done or ever will. The grave, impending events that could leave me handicapped at living life out like I have been for the last year has left my mind at a very vulnerable state.
I cry a bit about it, and when the tears have dried, I let out a "Feh" and go into a numbing silence -- over and over, all my life so far, I have become numb to mental pain and suffering. But this new addition of also having to regularly experience physical pain is something I do not like, and is something I truly fear very much.
An infant when he falls down hard, will not probably cry that much if he is alone, but when he is surrounded by somebody else who show him some sympathetic looks, he bursts out instantly and wails like there is no tomorrow.
Right after I fell from my scooter, I faced a most excruciating pain in my left knee as it directly crashed into the road, and my usual strong resolve went crumbling when I realized immediately that this could take away something big from my...being.
About 3 people passing by instantly came rushing to my help and were most kind, and I am much, much grateful for them for if not for them, my hand or fingers might have been crushed by a bus...
I was the super-strong lady who wouldn't bat a wet eyelid despite having had a very bad fall in front of them. But when I bade them goodbyes and proceeded to ride back to my workplace, I sobbed uncontrollably hard because...because I felt lost at how all of the utterly wretched things happen to me over and over, and because I never deserve them! Well now, nobody ever deserves all the bad things that happen to them in the world over, true, but at that moment when you have just been landed a blow, it is only yourself that you think of and not the world. I had to repeatedly chant out loud that it is going to be okay, that nothing will happen, that even if something did happen and if it would leave me locked out from the life I want to live, it is okay, that I will still find a way back into it, a way back into doing what I love.
Today is 2017 August 30, and I am continuing this blog entry. I am still calm and composed at my situation, my self-consolation as typed-in above still ring in my mind, but I still fear.
I have resigned and reigned in my feelings and chosen to accept whatever comes my way and I will never regret that. But yet, I fear that which will come my way. Is this fear rational or...not? That is rather out of importance for me though...
What do I fear? Well, I sort of mentioned that way above, but it is not just for myself that I fear.
Earlier,
When hurt, the body and mind need to rest and recuperate to get back to at least half of what its stance was before the healing process started out.
I hope that the man who will come to love me, if he is as broad-minded as I thought or would think on falling in love with him, will not be surprised at my stretch marks or the scars that I have garnered over the years, and more than that, I hope he would not be as surprised at the physical ones I will garner in the years to come even while trying to do the silliest of things.
I have become a child of the earth now, taking in whatever life brings to me, and am content with keeping it close to me.
