‘Scars, sometimes, are the maps of our lives, the evidence of our journey and the proof of our resilience’ - These were the last words I read out of a book I had just finished two days earlier.
I was at the bus stop waiting and hoping for a bus to arrive just in time because my mother hates it when I get home late and at the moment, it was running late. I had had to finish up some paperwork back at work, and that had delayed me a bit; the bus had just moved, and I had to wait for the next one, which was probably some minutes away.
While I was waiting, I saw a group of girls dressed in uniforms; one could easily tell they were coming back from school. They seemed to be busy with one other, talking and cracking jokes loudly.
In contrast to these bubbly ladies, another girl was coming from behind. She looked really thin, and her bones were protruding and visible to the naked eye.
As they got closer to me, I heard the content of their conversation and their topic of discussion was the skinny girl behind them. Laughing with great joy about how they bullied and insulted her on a daily basis, I was shocked at the extent of wickedness among youths these days. The girl, obviously scared, tried to slow down her footsteps so that she could fall back behind them.
As she stopped, she heaved a sigh of relief because she could see the group of girls had gone further away from the bus stop. Heaving a sigh of relief, she sat on the passenger's seat at the bus terminal and looked up at me. With a smile, she greeted me quietly, and that took me by surprise. I thought she was going to be quiet and pitiful since she had heard her mates bowing to deal with her. Sitting beside her, I initiated a conversation with her and that was when I decided there and then to open up my deepest scars.
I was literally the tiniest person in my whole class, a class that was full of fat and chubby girls and as a result, I was constantly bullied by one of my classmates who was notorious for being a bully. However, she had many of my classmates covering up for her so the bullying report never got out to the teachers or school.
With each passing day at school, I began to get engulfed in terror - I was always scared of what the next moment, the next class or the next day spelt for me. Usually, I would get home and cry all day.
Ring! Ring!!
My phone beeping interrupted my conversation with her and it was my mother calling me again. After assuring her that I would be back home in a short while, I continued my conversation with the young girl.
Clearing my throat, I continued my story. At the same time, aside from the school bullying, even my neighbours did not cease to banter with me because of my body size. Although it hurt, there was nothing I could do because these people were more than me and bigger than I was. The girl, by now was looking at me with a bit of pity as she asked, ‘How did you survive all of these?’
I smiled and responded, ‘I didn't do anything special, but during my final year at the secondary school, I got a new homeroom teacher who always stood to defend me every time. As a result, the bullying was reduced and then finally stopped.’
This teacher of mine also taught me how to develop a spine and rise against my adversaries. I began to read books and from a place of being cowardly, I got bolder; bold enough to resist bullying every single time!
Rounding off my little evening charge, I looked at the young girl before me and said, ‘It's all about your mind and how you decide to treat what people say about you. You don't always have to listen to people's opinions about you; everyone on earth talks but not everything is worthy of being listened to.’
With a smile, I said, 'Darling, you are beautiful just the way you are, don't let anyone tell you otherwise - small, big, thin or plus-sized. There is no one else in the whole wide world as unique as you are. These seeming ‘scars’ add radiance to your beauty.
At this moment, the bus arrived, and each one of us went our separate ways, although not without the girl giving me a big bear hug and promising to look for me.
Truly, scars are the maps of our lives, the evidence of our journey and the proof of our resilience because judging from what I told that girl - one which I had never shared with anyone. However, recounting this story made me realise how much the scarring experiences I faced had shaped me into the unique individual I had grown into. Looking into the grey skies, I hummed a song as I walked back home slowly.
Post a Comment