Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Scars, scraped shins, and sheets of skin

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Many times we are only aware of accidents after the fact, after analysis by looking back.


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There are times we don’t even remember how we were cut.


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We just see dots and lines of dried blood. Sometimes a few drops still wet, glistening on a gash.


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Most just shrug their shoulders, smile sheepishly, and move on. That is, if they are lucky.


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And if they keep their memory shallow and short. But bruises brood.


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There are scars that leave prints like signatures, or insignia. Marks like eyes forced shut.


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Blazer, Fred Perry
Shirt, Crocodile
White jeans, Maison Martin Margiela
Neck tie, thrifted
Sitwa Gray Aura Quartz Bracelet, Bosquejo


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Braided black belt, Factorie
Blumo 8mm Dumortierite Bracelet, Bosquejo
Boros 10mm Dumortierite Bracelet, Bosquejo


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Espadrilles bought from Aldevinco, Davao 


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There are people that brandish them like badges.


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But for me, I keep the secrets of my scars silent.


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Until the right time for stories to be shared.


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We are all veterans of our private, unfinished battles.


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All waiting to open up.


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To ask and compare stitches. To laugh at them in public. 


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Expound and expand tall tales.


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Wear again the uniforms and armor that we used to clutch close to our chests.


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Only to fold back as tight as healed skin when we are alone again.


Photos by Jullian Mendoza


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