A body full of scars

There’s no such thing as perfection, everything is uniquely imperfect.

Something that’s perfect and without scars has nothing to tell. Pure and pristine, never been used, a thing trapped in a trophy case for all to admire. A perfect being, one that has neither tasted the richness of life nor interacted with the real world. Something without a history or memories of anything eventful. A sad pitiful existence.

By contrast, the imperfect has everything to tell. A history for every scar, bruise, dent, or ding. Whether these scars were intentional or unintentional, they all have a story to it, a memory of what transpired in the distant past. Proof that they were alive and kicking, enjoying the limited time they have in existence before they perish. This is true for everything, be it humans, animals, luxury items, or daily appliances.

Life is full of scars, they are proof of your existence. A souvenir for the countless experiences you’ve had, proof that you lived a life worth remembering.

Wear your scars proudly for they define a part of you, whether you like it or not, they are what made you uniquely imperfect, just the way you are.

Life is great

How long has it been already, a decade? As I look back at all my past memories and all the new memories accumulated throughout the years, I can’t help but feel a strong sense of nostalgia.

All those old emails and chat messages, old photos, old memories, and old mementos. They all spark such wonderful feelings of familiarity and makes me long for the past. How great would it be if I could just go back in time and relive them? Perhaps I could try again, fix some of my mistakes and even do away with a few regrets.

And yet, look how far I’ve come. I’ve made so much progress, met many new people, visit plenty of new places, and made so many new memories over the past decade. It’s as if I’m a completely different person now. Perhaps it’s because I really am.

All those past mistakes and old regrets, they don’t mean as much to me anymore. Why would they? I’ve long since removed myself from such old worries, I can’t help but see them as yet another interesting tale to tell. A story worth telling, purely for the lessons learned, if not for entertainment reasons.

They say that time heals all wounds, wise words indeed. Life isn’t perfect, we aren’t perfect, no one is. So it would only make sense to stop holding on to the past so strongly, let time seep into your soul and ease your burden ever so slowly. Regardless of how many times you relived those past experience, trying to change things to your liking, thinking of various witty comebacks and whatnot, nothing will change.

Just accept it as something that happened. Given enough time, everything would feel distant enough that they no longer matter. Distant enough for you to realize that it has nothing to do with the current you anymore but rather, it’s a story about your old self. Accept that it’s nothing more than a memory of a time long gone and a story about your previous self, a part of you that no longer exists.

Life is great and I’m certainly happy with my life thus far. It’s because I find comfort in knowing that regardless of how I live my life, it will be nothing more than a series of memories in a few years time. Be it good memories or bad memories, they will be my memories nonetheless. Memories of all that has happened, memories of who I used to be, memories of the times I’ve cherished. What more could I ask for?

There’s a story behind everything

Throughout our lives, we’ve always been preoccupied with all the things that are going on, be it the stuff we have to do or the issues we have to face. As a result, we miss out on a lot, mostly in the form of stories, stories that we’re not aware of.

Life is one big story, the one and only true story worth telling. A story that intertwines with everything around us, and everything that is anything has a story behind it. That scar on your friend’s arm, your great aunt’s misadventures when she was sixteen, the design behind the chair you’re sitting on, or the story behind that old set of dusty books in the attic.

We can ask others to tell us their stories, we can talk to people and share these stories, but we can never really know them for what they are. Memories might fail, parts might be forgotten, and maybe the person who knows the whole story is no longer with us. Stories are ephemeral after all, the can change and shape-shift depending on how it’s passed on, and they might even be lost to the ravages of time.

Stories are the mark we leave behind as proof of our existence. Stories are the memories of the time we spent alive. Stories are what others would see if they’re viewing our lives through a movie screen. Cherish the stories you have, perhaps consider writing a memoir even, for stories are precious. Not to everyone, but certainly to you and those close to you.

This could all be a dream

There was this childhood memory I had from back in my primary school days. We were at the gym having P.E class and my aunt suddenly showed up carrying a plastic bag holding a styrofoam container.

Turns out, she was bringing me lunch. I’m not quite sure why but I felt embarrassed by it so I ran away and hid somewhere. Then, she would go look for me and once she found me, I would run off somewhere again.

This game of hide-and-seek continued for a while but eventually, my aunt gave up and left. I’m not quite sure what happened next as I simply don’t remember, it happened more than a decade ago, after all, so my memory is rather fuzzy.

Then again, did it really happened? I can’t help but realize just how unlikely the whole story seems. Was there any need to chase after me? Couldn’t my aunt just ask my teacher or classmates to pass me the food? Did I really run away in the middle of P.E class?

Therefore, it has to be a dream. A dream that felt so much like reality that it even confused me between the two. To think, I just realized this yesterday when I was trying to recall that quote about being angry. Who knows, even that might not be real.

The thing with memory is that it’s so easily manipulated. We are susceptible to so many memory biases, we create false memories and research even suggests that our memories can change with each recall.

The worst part is, there’s very little you can do about it. A while back, I did ponder about creating a memory management system that lets me store all my memories. But perhaps the answer isn’t to record everything.

The answer should be to accept that your memories doesn’t last forever. Accept that you might be wrong about that thing you were so sure about. Even the most reliable hard disk will one day fail, so embrace what you remember. For all you know, this could all be a dream.