I cut my hand cooking today. It was sudden and unexpected. I felt the slash and threw the knife away. As I saw the blood springing from the wound I realized that it was going to leave a scar, another scar, and I gradually became aware of every scar in my body… and its story.
Some scars dated from my early childhood, and they were the result of careless, innocent behavior which, after those injuries, became more and more cautious. Others were caused by distraction and others by other people. But every one of them reminded me of some event from my past. They are recollections from my whole life.
Then I began to wonder about those other scars, the hidden ones, the ones that –one could say– hurt the most: the wounds in our hearts and minds. Those are deeper and, though invisible, they are the ones that shape us.
Whenever we get hurt, whether it is physically or emotionally, we learn. It is through pain that we grow, that we take in some important information about life. If you play with fire you are going to get burned; if you trust someone too much, you run the risk of being disappointed or betrayed; if you lie you will hurt others and maybe they will drift apart, leaving you filled with remorse.
Most of the time, it is not until we are wounded that we become conscious of some things. And because it hurt, we understand that it is better to be wary. That is why scars are important to me. They are reminders of the things I have done, of the places I have been, the mistakes I have made, like Hansel and Gretel’s crumbs of bread. Thus, whenever I see them, I remember. I remember who I am and how and why I have come to this point in my life.
A scar is the trace of an old affliction. The evidence that wounds heal; that no matter how painful an experience may be, life goes on. However, the healing is not complete and a trail is left as evidence of a certain happening, of a life experience.
My scars remind me that my past is real. They are the marks that life has left on me so that I don’t make the same mistakes over and over again. Because of them, I am who I am. They are part of me and I am proud of having them: they show I have lived.
