When Scars Became Something to Hide

Scars.

Something so painful it makes me want to look away.
Something that feels embarrassing the moment I become aware of another’s gaze.

Without thinking, I seem to have learned to hide them,
so they would not be seen by anyone.

When something precious is wounded,
I imagine it filled with lacquer, then sprinkled with gold.

What kind of form will it take in the end?

Layer by layer,
time is spent building coats of lacquer.
Even after the cracks are filled and gold is sprinkled,
it is placed, for a while, inside a muro— where temperature and humidity are carefully held.

In time, any wound is elevated into something beautiful,
and at the same time, into something more resilient.

Through kintsugi, I came upon the idea of the beauty in imperfection.

Are wounds themselves, without exception,
truly something painful, something to be ashamed of?

If I could see my wounds,
my scars,
my unaltered self
as something beautiful,
even the events that caused the pain might become memories I hold dear.

When I am wounded, how do I face that wound?

When I realize it can be transformed into beauty,
perhaps there is no longer a need to hide it.

My wounds remain, for a little while longer, inside the muro.