A SCAR FOR A BIKE

Disclaimer: photo not mine.

  
I was 8 years old back then—I was running and playing with my sister in front of our home…typical children’s play, an ordinary day. We were running fast when all of a sudden, when I turned back, a bicycle was moving my way already…too fast I wasn’t able to avoid it. It moved towards me, unable to clutch the breaks before it hit me directly. I fell to ground, good thing my face and upper extremities were spared from cuts and bruises. However, my legs were bruised and I had a deep cut on my left knee and leg, and a smaller one on my right. It was bleeding and I was so scared and very much in pain that time. My mom came to me and cleaned my wounds. I didn’t know what happened to the bicycle driver, and I never even saw his (I know he’s a guy) face. I was hoping that my uncles and my grandmother would somehow reprimand him for being so careless—if that ever happened, I have no idea. While my mom was nursing my wounds, she scolded me for being so sloppy. She reminded me that I should always be cautious while playing along the streets, because in the first place, it wasn’t a playground where I just run around without being hit by anything with wheels. Most of all, she was so displeased by the fact that I have a very deep wound, that she said would definitely leave a scar. I was so young then, I don’t really care about scars and all. What I really cared about was the fact that I can see my gushing wound and that it really hurts. But my mom did—she worried that my soon-to-be scar won’t look so good on my legs. She, of most people cared about my skin, and she hated it every time I get bruises and insect bites. She wanted our skin to be unblemished. Talk about hygiene and skin care with my mom.

That was twelve years ago. The scar I have on my left leg is really visible (at least on my sight) blending against my skin given its complexion. It is at least an inch length and half an inch width. I never really paid much attention to it, but when I saw it in front of the mirror one day, it reminded me of that particular day—hazy with details but still present in my memory. I can still even recall that I was really crying that day. Nevertheless, it’s a mark of my past.

Why talk about scars? Well, there’s just so much about it and there are different kinds of too. Some are deep…some are keloid scars…some hollow ones…others are mere patch of distorted skin…there are those with breaks, and the ones with calluses. Each has a different story, but one thing’s for sure…it was once a wound—a deep one, that caused a great deal of pain. Wounds heal, in different stages and different paces. Not all wounds leave a scar because our skin regenerates. But only deep wounds leave an evidence—a scar—which our body can do no more than to just allow the pain to dissipate and the wound to close and heal. We all have been wounded…once, twice or more…felt a variety of pain, flashes different glints of memory about it—and then, we move on. But I guess, even if we’ve gone far enough, whenever we see that scar, the memory resurfaces and we may feel a bit of pain still…but it’s never the same again.

 

Because of that incident in my life, I never got the courage to ride a bike…I’ve always been afraid of getting wounded again…afraid of running because I might stumble and fall again…that fear stopped me from experiencing some great but simple joys in life. I never knew the feeling of actually riding a bicycle, because I never allowed myself to ride. It wasn’t that scar, but the pain I felt when I once had it, that never allowed me to summon the courage to get past through it. I guess we all get afraid sometimes, and our scars remind us of that fear—fear of pain. It’s a reminder, that we’re vulnerable. And it always—always takes time to recover. I always regret not trying hard enough to learn how to ride on a bicycle. But I know, that no matter how persistent our minds push us to do something we fear, every so often, we’re not strong enough. It’s not our fault—It’s just who we are. We all have weaknesses, and my own scar reminded me of my own limitation. We all move on, but our past doesn’t move with us. It stays as it is, and how it affects our present is a choice we always make.

Wounds become a scar for reasons—it’s been healed and it’s a remembrance of that experience we once had with our pasts. Just like with my scar, the memory behind it reminded me that we could run carefree through life—the breeze that brushes our face when we lope and the freedom that joggles in our feet when we dash—but in that run, there are bumps that could get in the way, some people who would jerk behind our back and topple us down. But most importantly, the ones who would raise us back to our feet again. The impediments, fall-backs, and pains we face in our life are never an excuse to remain stagnant and fearful, and coward. Life moves, and it moves with us.

POSTSCRIPT:

My mom, with her protectiveness, kept my fears at bay. That day, when she was so worried about my wound, I know she was most worried about the pain. I was crying and I know she was in much pain as I was. But she did a really good job of reminding me to be really cautious…to be extra careful while I run and play around—that some people are there to knock us down and never really cared to look behind and help us up. She won’t always be there to nurse my wounds—as a grown up, I had to do it on my own. Sometimes, we’re just by ourselves alone with the disappointments in life, and my mom doesn’t want me to go through that unarmed and unprotected. She knows that no matter how much she wanted to protect me and my sister, we will always feel pain. Maybe that’s why, that day, after cleaning my wounds, she bought me an ice cream—to let me know that no matter how painful it felt, how bitter it tasted, and how terrible it really looked—it’s just a choco-flavored ice cream that could save the day! She wanted me to know, that not all pain stays—it gradually disappears, either because of a numbing coldness, or a sweet tasting delight of something that’s really good. Nevertheless, it always goes away—maybe not entirely soon—but eventually, it will…