30 Jan

If collecting stamps is a hobby, is collecting scars one too? While not exactly a hobby you would want to list down in your resume, or share with your date I can guarantee it to be an interesting lifelong affair.

Scars are a permanent imprint on your body to remind you of a certain time when you couldn’t control an itch, were careless, didn’t listen to advice or was just plain mad.

I don’t know about you, but I seem to remember the origin of most of my scars. Good thing about that is I don’t have to stick a post-it on every scar to help me recall and it doesn’t bug me as much when I can’t recall where it came from, unlike a song that you can’t remember the title of.

Most of my scars, the little ones are a reminder of how I couldn’t stand an itch from a mozzie bite or couldn’t help squeezing a zit when I was younger. My mom screaming at me about my decreasing chances of being a model didn’t help the cause. So these little scars were just a reminder of lack of control. We were all young once, you would understand.

Then there are scars that were left behind from falls. You weren’t looking, weren’t concentrating or just plain clumsy. These scars are mostly found on your knee caps, elbows, shins and palms. A reminder that you fell, a reminder that you got up.

Of course there were cool scars from sports. Scars you can tell your friends, your children and your children’s children. I got a couple of those, battle scars we call them.

Once I represented my class and ran a relay. It was near the beach and the cemented floor was filled with sand. I slipped only a couple of metres from the start. That slip caused me to scrape my left upper shin on the sandy floor and a few deep cuts on my knee cap. It was bleeding but I ran on.

Obviously, it wasn’t a fairy tale ending where I caught up with the bunch and won the race. I wasn’t a fast runner to begin with and after the fall things weren’t going to improve. I fell, I wasn’t bitten by a genetically mutated spider. That scar left with a big ‘8’ on my leg, now it kinda looks like a ‘7’.

My favourite scar is a significant one, on my forehead. Classic tale of me being a difficult child to raise. Let me put it this way, if my mom gets a dollar every time she ask me ‘don’t’ do something and I still did it. She would be swimming in an Olympic pool filled with one dollar coins.

I was about 5 or younger, my brother and I accompanied my mom to one of her facial sessions. I needed to take a leak, my brother brought me there accompanied by a stern warning from my mum not to run around. Here’s the moment, I came out of the toilet, not knowing why, but like a kid injected with adrenaline (there’s no reason to do that by the way, it’ll be a nightmare) I burst into a run with a big gigantic smile on my face and shouted ‘Bro! where are you? Are you trying to hide from me?’. Only when I started my 100m Olympic sprint did I realise two things,

  1. My brother was right outside the toilet.
  2. There was a cleaning lady a few yards in front of me and she’s done a pretty good job mopping the floor.

Before I knew it, I stepped into the slippery zone skidded head first like an ice skater into a pillar. My prize for my routine, lots of blood and 6 stitches on the center of my forehead right about where my fringe starts to grow. Not a story I would like to tell my kids, but I know my mom has told this story a million times to prove to everyone what a jack*** I was.

We’ve all had times where we were younger, a little angrier and just outta control.

Fear Leads to Anger. Anger Leads to Hate. Hate Leads to Suffering

If you haven’t heard of it, you just don’t watch Star Wars.

When we’re younger, our world was smaller and most of the time we only saw ourselves in it. Not that we have the mentality that the world revolves around us but we never felt like there’s enough because we only saw so little. When we lose certain things we become bitter, angry and do things we thought would change things but all it leaves us with is a scar.

I’ve got a certain scar like that, one that reminds me that I was once younger and not very bright. It was a time that I thought, when things didn’t go my way, all I had to do was roar a little louder, threw something harder, severely damage something and show how strong I was to turn things around. It didn’t and it never will.

If Detached, Anger is a Tool. If Attached, You Become its Tool

This scar is a great reminder to me how far I’ve come since my adolescent years. I still use anger once in a while but it sure isn’t as bad as before. The thing about this scar is, I am grateful that my anger left ME with it and not someone else.

Feel free to share interesting stories about your scars! Cheers



One Response to “Scars”


  1. Tweets that mention Scars « Writing to engage -- - January 30, 2011

    […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Baldwin Ng, Baldwin Ng. Baldwin Ng said: Scars: […]

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