I remember making the trip across the ocean with cracked skin and long beautiful fake nails.
I remember feeling a little anxious about packing and unpacking, scared of what they might do to my acrylics. They were a little chipped but stayed on for a long time anyway, contrary to unpopular belief.
I now see the aptness of the above as metaphors for how life has changed.
The cracked skin I carried with me, has now learnt to heal and close up, smoothening over with finer lines. They say that those who have hands with many lines are wiser, or so I recall someone off-handledly mentioning it.
The finer lines has embdeeded themselves not just on my hands, they’ve learnt to chart a path into my heart and soul. I like to think of them as my body’s way of showing me that much as I may struggle, it is always trying its best to find the best way(s) forward. The cracks were stubborn, often giving me false signals that I was finally able to bid them goodbye, then opening up again days later. They’ve now bid me adieu for the time being, and while I may not miss them, I know they served me well by giving me a really interesting metaphor to reflect on my time away from familiarity with.
These lines snake everywhere, much like how my mind and feet meanders whenever I choose to purposefully or absent-mindedly venture around. I’ve found myself charting new paths to now familiar places, for convenience or for the sheer enjoyment of balding trees and in loving memory of once attached bronze and half-green leaves. It leaves me almost green with envy that the seasons dare change so ‘quickly’, faster than my soul and mind has time to make sense of it. Except, I barely noticed that I’m joining their ranks, as I am changing in ways that I may not fully comprehend but the ball has already been rolling for a while.
The cracks that now have become lines, once a source of frustration, but now they are but a distant memory of pain and irritation. They present me with proof of my body’s resilience and willingness to strive to heal and become better. This extends to my mind’s willingness to accept the novelty of experiences and attempt to allow myself to bask in the sheer satisfaction of it all.
These lines resemble the works in progress that my soul now has been contending with for a few months now. Being overly humble is almost too easy for me, with my intense inclination towards pleasing others and downplaying certain aspects of my own experiences. While I can be cognisant of my privilege in many ways, I am also too aware of how no amount of privilege could suffice should there be no mental will accompanying it. While the latter has varying levels on a day-to-day basis, it is always interesting to see how one might react to a situation, in hindsight or not.
While I may always be a work in progress, much like the skin on my hands trying to maintain its own sense of equilibrium, it is gratifying to be constantly evolving. Evolution can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but to remain constant without ebbing and flowing seems even worse.
The acrylics I carried from the happiest place on earth (for me, that’s Thailand) to home and here to my new home, I sorely miss. I miss the facade of beauty the provided to mask the bitten-down bits that are a by-product of fiddling and dissipating nervous energy. They also represent the illusions that I carried with me, but thankfully am slowly learning to let go of them. Reality may not be pretty, but it encompasses an enduring kind of beauty. We can’t always be surrounded by pretty things but we can find the beauty in the ordinary, whether familiar or not.
Those nails stayed in a plastic tub, until I shifted and chose to get rid of them for I saw no other purpose for them, except being the colourful elephant in the room. The elephant spoke volumes of my willingness or fear of letting go of my expectations for what life should and can be. That’s what moving brought to my mind. Knowing fully well that to stay back home would have been far easier on me and for my family, except being too aware that my future self would thank me for seizing this opportunity.
While I still love beautiful shiny things, and being disillusioned has been painful in some ways, it has given me a closer insight into what it could be like to carve a different type of existence.
Now, the fine lines on my skin accompany the mundanity of wandering around a neighbourhood I enjoy being in (before saying goodbye, again.) We learn to chart new paths that feel familiar in the everyday sights that bring comfort. My plain nail bits give me a chance to be privy to the blank canvases that I’m afforded, to paint my own existence in colours that I can borrow or create on my own. To add embellishments of experiences and adventures that I may not anticipate, but I will be ready for if and when they become part of my reality.
Moving… brings out a lot. It’s just a little curious to see what it can truly dredge up, whether muddy diamonds or sharp rocks. Regardless, both are pretty and functional in their own ways.
