Earlier today I was sitting in a cafe (as I usually am these leisure filled days). In walks a Sikh man with two daughters. The daughters were about 9 or 10 years old. The family of three sit next to my table. One of the girls has a disfigured face – probably from a childhood burns accident. The other girl is ‘normal’ and pretty. The father goes off to order. The poor little disfigured girl was so self-conscious. Surrounded by all these strange people who look at her but not staring. Her sister more confident – oblivious (or maybe not) – to her sisters turmoil and emotions. I watched her. The little girl. This little thing destined to be different. She sat in her chair visibly uncomfortable – not knowing how to deal with it. With time she no doubt will learn. Will she build a tall wall around herself? Will she grow resentful crawling into her little burrow. Or will she learn the Great Secret. The great secret that will emancipate her from her scars?
Life can be so unfair. Life can be so terrible. An incident early on in life can scar us for life.
At what age do you realise you are different? How does it influence you as you grow into the world? Do you suffer deep pangs of personal doubt?
The little girls scars were physical. But do we not, all of us, walk around carrying deeper scars? Scars that prevent us from reciprocating love. Scars that take away our warmth and make us cold. Scars that make us angry with the world. With authority. With our father who was never there. Or who was there but all too much. Scars that bedevil us in all stages of our life.
No one escapes life unscathed. We’re all scarred by life.
(Sent from my Samsung Galaxy SII)