little girl at top level of vivo city
When I was younger(about 15 years ago), I would play games like hide-and-seek, block catching and soccer after school at my old house in Boon Lay. Majority of them were Malays, Indians(no racism meant here). If I recall correctly, I was one of the few Chinese.
Being kids boys, falling down and scraping both knees was inevitable. We ran, pushed each other, fell down. Once, I played soccer downstairs with the whole gang of kids living in my block.
It was a makeshift soccer court(there were no street soccer courts then), with goalposts made out of our slippers and borders made out of the badminton court. Of course, everyone was a referee and we screamed bloody murder a teammate was tripped. The entire area was surrounded by a minor drainage which was pretty efficient at flushing rainwater away, or throwing away our empty drink packets depending which came first.
So that fateful day, I decided in a split second while tussling for the ball to do my most amazing soccer move that I’d seen one of the chaps do. So I stepped on the ball and before I could do anything else, I tripped, the ball gave way, staggered a few steps towards the drainage before finally failing in my battle to remain bipedal. I fell face first with both my knees scraping into the concrete of the drainage.
I held back my tears because Dad always said males shouldn’t cry.
Well, I cried anyway when I was trying to bath. Cold water on fresh bleeding wound is not a joke for a 8 year old. My nanny dried the wound and gave me some dressing to cover it up from further harm(inflicted by myself of course).
In days, the wound dried. In a week, it became a scab. In a few more, it became a scar, the first(in relative terms) of many. Soon after, I forgot about the accident and was running around playing catching again.
I was lucky. The nanny always dressed my wound. I didn’t peel the scab everytime it dried, there was no repeat of the pain(on the same wound).
***
The years passed. Didn’t need a nanny anymore. I feel guilty, that I’ve not seen her all these years; but thats a story for another day. As I moved house, went to secondary school, there was nobody to dress my wounds. I fell and I bled, I picked at my scabs again and again. The scars piled on.
***
As I got older, the accidents stopped. The scabs went away. The scars never left.
***
Time buries everything, it numbs us and it evolves us.
Time, cannot take away the scars.
