There was this time when I was little, I accidentally pierced a needle through my thumb. My finger didn't look very pleasant, of course. It was the kind of wound that would make people feel your pain just by looking at it. It was the kind of wound that would make me feel the actual pain multiplied by ten when I thought of it. So I came up with a solution. I put a band-aid on it and pushed the bloodstained memory to the back of my head. As time went by, I forgot about the injury; it was numb and easy. Two days later, the wound started to ulcerate, and the pain intensified. With the help of my parents, it recovered a week later, somehow. But at the same spot where the needle penetrated, it left a scar that was only visible if you paid enough attention to. Every time I looked at my thumb, tremors traveled from the nerves underneath the scar through my spine to my entire body, reminding me of the horrible scene years ago, and my finger simultaneously felt the same ache under subconsciousness.
I have found myself yet again in a state I absolutely did not anticipate. It's not my finger this time. It's somewhere inside; somewhere invisible to our naked eye. After putting a band-aid over it, I told myself that it wouldn't hurt as long as I didn't think about it. This wound was gouged deep and wide; as immeasurable as the depth of a well. There was treasure inside that had been excavated, and nothing was left. But based on the experience of a ulcerated wound, it's untenable for further damages in virtue of such mistreatment. And soon enough, this wound started to reveal itself to me and others. I endeavored to loot from others and cram things into this hollow wound of mine. It felt worse eventually, as it should be. I rued how ignorant of me to disregard where I was damaged because even if I found a cure, there would be an eternal scar branded on it. And it would hurt whenever it beat.
The first book that led me to think the most was Looking For Alaska by John Green. I was an intact closed-bud when I first read it, and I can't believe it is still very relatable for me. In the book, Miles Halter once said that, "At some point, you just pull off the band-aid, and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved." Maybe that's what we should do, too. Let air reach the wound, let it breathe, let it heal. And as you're doing that, replenish yourself not with others but with what you have. Most people tend to ask for something in return to fill up the hole inside, which will prevent them from healing because they only put the focus on what is gone, instead of asking themselves what should really be stuffed into the wound. I guess I was most people.
Before you choose to give yourself away, piece by piece, you have to be willing to let go of these parts of you, instead of looking at those empty spaces as places that you need to fill as soon as possible. Look at them as places for you to grow into; as a breathing room. It can be a result of losing yourself by pouring others into these cracks because it is as if the materials that will never be a part of us in the case of a dental filling. Let the wounds show and let yourself go. Carry yourself with the idea of wholeness and let yourself in. There are things that leave, but there are also things that continuously come in and choose to stay for good. So when you give away yourself lovingly, pick the people who deserve it, and never be ashamed of this unconditional bestowment, because we can only let the pain go by letting ourselves go.
The mirror in my bathroom was hung at just the same level as the top of my head to my chest. Apart from the wrinkles and acne that could be observed, I awoke the courage to see my long hidden wound beneath the band-aid. And in this empty space, there was a new-found purpose budding where blood pumped through.
