I love so much of what others do, but the one thing that doesn’t sit right by me is how when you have a flaw, feature or a quirk that isn’t close to perfect, people will tell you to look over it, that it isn’t there or that it doesn’t matter.
When you tell them about a scar on your upper lip, they’ll tell you how it’s barely visible at all. If you tell them about the bags under your eyes that have appeared gradually over the years, they’ll tell you they’re not as baggy. I don’t like this idea of perfectionism. It takes away the fact that you’ve lived a life that was real.
I am not the same child; my eyes don’t beam with hope anymore. When you tell me that I have the same eyes, I feel insulted. Do my losses don’t matter? You want me to believe some lie where nothing since when I was a child has affected me somehow when it has broken me, torn me apart. There are scars where I’ve rebuilt myself continually.
It may be true we see more of our imperfections, but the slightly tired eyes escape no one. Yet, I am proud of them. Being as tired as they are, they tell me I keep going, no matter how hard life becomes, that I always arrive, that I don’t stop even when it gets tough, especially then.
The scar I told you about reminds me of being the kid who stood up to a bully for something he believed in, knowing all too well he lacked any strength at all. It reminds me to be that kid when the situation demands, even if I’m weak, or when I get punched in the face.
When I’m idle or lost in thought, I’ll often stare at my right hand and wrist, the tattoo serving as a constant reminder to continue living. It is a reminder to tell myself: it’s all in my hands. It has always been in my hands.
Time carves us all in astonishingly different ways. Everything that has ever happened to me has made me who I am at this very moment, writing these words. It’s a robbery when someone tells me there’s nothing there!
There are scars, love, and I’ve only lived so long, I believe I’ll collect so many more. They will all be as important to me, if not more. They tell me the life I live is real and that I’m a real person with real feelings.
Why would you want to take that away from anyone?