Art by Ray Yoshida
At times I wonder if the scars on our bodies are like the Freedom Squares in different cities – remnants of struggles, echoing battle cries, hiding in them an unsung, untold saga.
Scars on my body are patches of vivid memories, tales that are never forgotten, stories that are never lost.
The cycle race that I lost, the brick that fell on your toes, the chemistry lab accident or my acne that became the topic of long conversations. Every time I run my hands over them, it is a trip down the memory lane. Scars are symbols of the battles we fight everyday - battles that make us. They remind me to love my body, to respect it, to be at ease in my skin. They remind me of the confidence I grew, of the struggle to smile, of the things it taught me.
But there are apps to round off my "edges", clear my marks, remove my acne, lighten my skin and hide my scars. These cameras with "beauty features" reduce me from a sculpture to a canvas. They tell me, like so many before them, that the best way to bear my scars, is to hide them.
Like the people who told my mother that they were worried about my acne, like the advertisements that tell me that my scars aren’t worthy enough to be out there, they reduce me to a sheet of skin.
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