Okay, so, actually I should sleep, feeling a bit miserable and all. But I remembered I wanted to write a blog about something I saw in the train last week. I hope this is not going to be one of those "here's my opinion in a bible thick book" blogs. I will certainly try to contain myself.
Okay, so, I was in the train, from rehearsal with my new band (omg exciting!) in Leeuwarden, back to Enschede. In... Deventer I got into a train, a woman older then I am, got on before me. I saw her arm.
I don't know, maybe I've got a tendency to look at other peoples arms, expecting to see something out of a habit, or maybe I actually hope (?) to see something.
Anyway, she got her arms full of scars. Upper and lower, upside and downside. Scars scars scars.
I've seen that before, people with scars. But you have like 3 different scar-people.
The ones who lead a normal life with falling and scratchy cats and bunnies
The ones who have scars that make you go like "hm.. is that normal?"
And the ones with scars that make you want to stare at them because you know they did it themselves, and they did it a lot. (at least, I want to stare when I see this)
Well, she was category 3. And so I was staring (I did my best to make it so normal possible).
And I actually was kind of proud of her? I mean, it was noticeable. Really noticeable. But she was wearing short sleeves, and doing stuff with her arms like a normal person.
Now actually, when I see those kind of arms (the upper, lower, up, and downside arms) I get this sort of happy feeling I never cut myself on the upside of my arms. And only a little on my upper arms. This might even feel like an achievement from time to time. And this same feeling of achievement from my side, actually made the pride I felt for her even bigger.
When I feel like wearing short sleeves I do it. And I don't really care then. But I do sometimes watch my movements, how I grab stuff from people, how I put my hair into a ponytail when I've got no sleeves.
Maybe there is something liberating about scars everywhere on your arms if you view it from this point. I am able to hide it a bit, bit she was not, not with short sleeves anyway.
But well, maybe there's nothing liberating about it.
I don't really have a point here I guess. But I think that's okay. The feeling this 'experience' gave me was.. kind of great. I think the pride I felt for her, even may have been for myself a little.
I wanted to talk to her, to say something, how cool I thought it was she was walking around like this. That I know it might be hard, but that I'm sure she's an inspiration for more people than just me, walking around like this.
But I didn't say anything of course, because I'm a chicken.
Love,
Fleur
