I am so proud of myself - for not picking at the scab on my knee, results from the clumsy ankle twist weeks ago. It's almost entirely healed now - something that struck me when I was examining it the other day.
And that's rare, an undisturbed recovery for a wound of mine.
As a kid, I was the little miss klutzy, always knocking into things and falling. Thus, my legs were perpetually smattered with 'five-cents' and 'ten-cents' bruises and scabs. And being the itchy-fingers I am, could never resist picking at them. My mum's incessant well-meaning naggings 'Girl, don't scratch!' just falls on deaf ears, much to her consternation. I would be fixated, fascinated, and kept at it till the wounds eventually heal, but leaving a darkened mark behind.
But I did remember feeling conscious about them in high school years, and berating myself for not listening to mother's wise words. I remembered fearing that these scars would stay for the rest of my life, leaving me with no choice but to wear long pants all the time. Well, thankfully, those scars/blemishes have faded over the years, so no real damage done.
And fortunately, I'm *cough* less of a klutz now, and more of a vainpot too. So that should hopefully be something I never have to fret about anymore.
It's a lesson that can be applied to other things in life: Thou shalt not pick at wounds or scabs - for the simple reason that re-opening these injuries do more harm than good, and makes for a tedious, long-suffering recovery, with marks that could brand you for life.
And I pray that one day should the need arise, I can remember this simple logic and practise it diligently, conscientiously.
And that's rare, an undisturbed recovery for a wound of mine.
As a kid, I was the little miss klutzy, always knocking into things and falling. Thus, my legs were perpetually smattered with 'five-cents' and 'ten-cents' bruises and scabs. And being the itchy-fingers I am, could never resist picking at them. My mum's incessant well-meaning naggings 'Girl, don't scratch!' just falls on deaf ears, much to her consternation. I would be fixated, fascinated, and kept at it till the wounds eventually heal, but leaving a darkened mark behind.
But I did remember feeling conscious about them in high school years, and berating myself for not listening to mother's wise words. I remembered fearing that these scars would stay for the rest of my life, leaving me with no choice but to wear long pants all the time. Well, thankfully, those scars/blemishes have faded over the years, so no real damage done.
And fortunately, I'm *cough* less of a klutz now, and more of a vainpot too. So that should hopefully be something I never have to fret about anymore.
It's a lesson that can be applied to other things in life: Thou shalt not pick at wounds or scabs - for the simple reason that re-opening these injuries do more harm than good, and makes for a tedious, long-suffering recovery, with marks that could brand you for life.
And I pray that one day should the need arise, I can remember this simple logic and practise it diligently, conscientiously.
4 comments:
oh i was just like you! there were so many five cents and ten cents on my legs that i only wore jeans... boo hoo
yuling: haha I know that feeling! my mum used to tease me saying that I very rich with all that 'cents' lar. boo. :p
that's a cute analogy re life :)
i was a klutz as a kid, and still a klutz now! sigh.
beanbean: Haha same here! I don't fall down as much, but am forever knocking into things and bruising myself. :p
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