Dear little girl,

I don’t know what it likes to live with a scarred face. Not that I don’t have scars in mine, but they are little and most of the time, invisible to many. I have an average face. A face that gets lost in the crowd because it’s neither pretty nor ugly. A face that doesn’t get much attention. And I am just thankful to the crowd.

I realize that you might not be able to get away in the crowd now. Your friends will ask you about the scar in your lips and even give some comments about it. Your crowd will always talk about your scar, your neighbors will tell a story about it to their kids and your teachers will ask you every year when you go to higher level. There will be people who will laugh at it, people who will give an awkward smile because they feel sorry for you, they will murmur to themselves with a pitiful eyes and some will just remain silent.

You might find yourself alone in those times. You might be jealous of those pretty girls with flawless faces that have no scars. You might hate all those attentions your scar brings to you, all for the wrong reasons. You might get angry at yourself at times, at your fate, at your face but mostly at your scars. You might cry to sleep, you might think your mother and brother doesn’t understand you, that no one really knows what you are feeling.

But believe me, you are not alone. And I am not just bluffing or telling this in a vague term. I have a friend with an incomplete cleft in her upper lips and she shares how she is scared to meet new people because they will be asking her about it. Unlike those people are me who simply doesn’t notice it till she mentions. I have another friend who loves counting scars on his face and recount the stories. But reaching to his level will be a long and hard journey.

You will have to pass the point where you are affected by comments from people. You will have to accept the scars and even love them. Be proud of them. You will have to believe that people will love you despite those scars. And not doubt them at all. You will have to learn how to love yourself, over and over again. To reach his level, you will have to have patience and endurance and they are one hard thing to have. But that doesn’t mean you will not reach that level at all. You will, one day. If you let yourself to reach there.

And even if you cannot, even if you feel insecure and inferior and utterly helpless, know that you are not alone. Even if you feel unpretty and ugly, it’s okay. I will forever remind you of how this will never matter, how this is just a stupid perception people have, you have. How, what really matters is what you are from inside – a strong, independent, creative genius – who is loved by her people.

Know that what you look and how many scars you have isn’t a really big deal in this world. The big deal is how many people smiled because of something you did or said, how many of them feels great when you are around because you are always making them laugh with your silly antics and dances and how they will always love you for this.

I hope, when you are my age, or even before that, you will realize that all this flawless beauty is fake. What is really beautiful is scars and wounds. What is really real is being human with flaws, who is not afraid to make mistakes. What is really perfect is being imperfect.




Thank You For Inspiration, Zinta!

I bumped into this blog last night. And like everything/one I bump into usually, I fell in love with it. It took me while to realize who the blogger was, but with Sherlock Holmes’ mind of mine (that only I call myself), I succeeded soon enough. And that made me love it more. Imagining the blogger and her characters in the blog (few of whom I know) doing things that she describes them doing brought me closer to her. I felt like writing again, but not knowing exactly what and where. I had a feeling of overwhelming, feeling of everything at once that I usually call the ‘lightning-strike’ because that brings the inspiration to write. Hence I opened up a new blog, thinking I would delete it after a day, after gaining permission from a friend to mail him with these tiny little thoughts I have, every time I don’t find a place they belong to. But that blog I guess is here to stay, in secret. With 2 likes, 1 comment and a follower, it has proved that it was born to exist.

Reading a blog about daily life of someone you are close to is an amazing feeling especially when you are sad and feel all whippy-whappy. When you do not get what you want. Because he is all sleepy and well a bit drunk. And deep inside you feel guilty of feeling angry. 1) Because he had no idea what you wanted. 2) Because unlike you, he needs to wake up way early in the morning to go to school. We can talk about that feeling later because I want to stick with the blog. Yup, that’s what I do when I’m all sad and angry and teary-eyed. I read blogs and watch videos. Mostly of people I know and of those I don’t and rarely of those that comes in between. I read because I don’t have a best-friend that I can wake up at the middle of the night to talk about my feelings because someone slept while you wanted to hear his story. I have friends alright. Close they are. But none to call my best-friend mainly because I don’t really share what’s rushing in my mind with everyone although I go on talking about other things that might seem more important but might not truly be.

Right now, in between occasional chat in Facebook with a dear friend, and reading that blog-post, I am writing this one and then searching for a perfect theme for my newer journal blog that will be a secret. And I feel so content. After such a long time-period.