i love seeing that my friends and i have the same scars on our elbows, on our knees. it’s how i know we’re all just human, that we all have parallel stories from our youth. whenever i ask for the story, it’s always just some shit from their childhood. we’re all growing. we’re all healing.
i broke my left arm twice in a four year span. straight snapped it, both times. i’ll never forget the feeling of walking towards my house, holding my broken arm, knowing i would have to tell my mom what had happened, again. as she drove me to the hospital, she kept yelling at me. “i’m still paying for the ambulance we called last time you broke your arm and now you broke it again?!” 🤣 the scars on my body come in so many shades. some are light, some are dark. some i don’t remember getting, and some i’ll never forget.
my body reminds me of a cave, the ones where the walls are filled with drawings of animals and trees and mountains and rivers left by the cave people. i often find myself retracing my steps down the path of the scar on the left side of my chest with my fingers. i feel like a cave sometimes; i didn’t draw any of this, but there are so many stories.
countless scabby knees from thinking my mongoose bike and i were going to grow up and one day make the x games. i attempted whatever came to mind without hesitation, giving gravity permission to do what it wanted with my body. these scars remind me that i was moving, all the time. from jumping from trees because there was no other way down to doing whatever i could to avoid the vicious swings of electrical cords. i never stopped moving.
in 2000, my first year in america, i injured the hell out of myself right out the gate. it was my first new years celebration, and i was running on 100% pure, top-shelf adrenaline. i was playing tag with a few of my new friends, and one of these crusty kids was going after me. there was a stage and some steps coming up fast, and instead of running around the steps, i tried to lift my right leg up and maneuver around them by balancing on my left leg. i’m not really sure what what i was thinking because right as i lifted my right leg, my knee caught onto the corner of one of the metal stage steps, and cut me so deep that my bone was exposed. all that being said, my favorite thing when i think back to that moment was how i did it with no hesitation. i didn’t consider the consequences. sometimes i wonder if grew into my impulsivity or if it was in me from the moment i was born.