If you have ever read the book Little Bee then you probably remember this line:
“Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, this storyteller is alive. The next thing you know something fine will happen to her, something marvelous, and then she will turn around and smile.”
Or this one:
“We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, ‘I survived’.”
Some days I feel like I’m writing a very sad story, and some moments I feel like my scars are so deep they’re imprinted on my heart. The cover of the Little Bee story features a black silhouette of Little Bee’s profile and written all over her face is scrawled the title in twisted and tangled letters. I have to admit, I couldn’t even make out the title of the book in the store, and it wasn’t until I began to read that I realized it read–Little Bee. Looking at the book again tonight sitting her aside my computer, I realize the letters are Little Bee’s scars written all over her face, her face then plastered on her story.
Tonight I sit trying to make sense of my own scars, trying to sort out which ones are jagged, raised, white from years of settling, fresh with redness and newness. I’m a thinker. Sometimes I spend hours trying to figure out these scars, how to wipe them away and make myself flawless again. Tonight I am reminded that scars never disappear, they are marks of survival, they are part of our story that got the chance to keep being written.
I fell to my knees in prayer, not because I’m religious, but because I needed some thing else to hear my story even if it was just the air. I needed to show my scars, to itemize them, and then I needed to remember that a sad story means that I am alive and with the flick of a page I will turn around to smile again.