11/365 Days of Happiness: Scars are Tattoos with
Better Stories
I used to hate my scars. I usually don’t wear
skirts at work so no one would see them. I sometimes tease my Nanay that she
does not love me, she allowed me to get scarred when I was young.
But nowadays, I wear skirts more often. I don't
hate my scars anymore. I don't love them either, but I love the memories they
bring. Scars are tattoos but with better stories. My scars bring happy memories
of my childhood.
My most unforgettable scars are the ones I have on
my knees. I got them when I was 9 or 10. I was playing with my cousins. We were
using the baggage compartment of the tricycle as monkey bars. (Hey, it's made
of metal and we had great imagination).
I don't
have a picture of that but I have a recreation below, so you would imagine how
fun it was.
It was fun until the tricycle sped away with me
still hanging on the metal bars. I can't blame the poor driver. He was just
delivering bread to our sari-sari store. How could he have known that there was
a reckless little girl hanging on the metal bars? I was scared to let go, I was
afraid my face would hit the asphalted road. Good thing there was a good
neighbor who saw me and shouted at the driver to stop.
My sangko attended to my skinned knees. It may be
out of love or out of responsibility, but he did take care of me. Every day, he
would wash my wounds with boiled guava leaves. Ten to twelve- year old Filipino
boys would know where else the guava leaves are used for. It was effective. For
my knees, I know they were. I don't remember if I thanked my brother for that.
If not, "Salamat, Sangko!" (I don't even call him that anymore. My
three older brothers are now all called Kuya.)
That's one childhood game I won't ever forget. It
was painful but it didn't stop me from playing on monkey bars. But of course,
no more of the tricycle bars but plenty of swinging under the double deck bed.
Like this:
Funny now that I remember my childhood, I kind of
miss the scars from trying to get up the coconut tree and sliding down. It was
fun, too; with minor abrasions. Like the ones I get when I have to slide down
from the papaya tree from our second floor window. Less painful, but a bit
irritating are the scratches from rice stalks. We accompany our grandmother in
rice fields after harvest time. We would gather the grains left by the
harvester. Actually, she did most of the gathering, while we, the children play
in the haystack for hours. A little discomfort when we sleep at night but so
worth it. That was fun, fun, fun!
