These Constellations We Call Scars

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” 

― Rumi

Take off my clothes and stand in front of a full sized mirror. I can't even observe my body for a good 5 minutes without complaining.  Stripped down, not even a speck of concealer or mascara, I stare at my face and body, my imperfections glare back at me.
He doesn't miss a chance to call me beautiful, even when I'm scrubbed down of makeup. I have a hard time believing him. He could be saying this to keep my heart, sweetheart that he is.
My teens have marked me. I thought they would stop right there but I kept accumulating them year after year. My back is so stained, there's isn't an inch of plain skin. Backless clothes are off-limits for sure.
On my quiet days he declares back rubs. I cringe a bit. He doesn't say a word like absolutely nothing is wrong and here I am, lying face down, losing my sanity. ' FOR GOD'S SAKE, SAY SOMETHING!!!' my mind shrieks.
Décolletage. So delicate, so feminine. Not for me. I'm stained there too. I wear plunging necklines nonetheless, but I know when someones gaze does drift to my bosom its because they are staring at my marks.
In queues or crowds, people standing around whose eyes couldn't miss scars so prominent, would wince or randomly ask me what happened, followed by advice and dermatologist reccomendations.
Trust me when I say this, there's no fun living with insecurities.
Teenage Mehreen would have tried everything possible to get rid of the scars. Everyone said ' Time will fade them '. Fade them. Not erase them.  It takes a lot to be able to finally accept your imperfections as what defines you. In my younger days, I was surrounded by people who aimed to be flawless and just like sheep in a flock, I thought that was the only way to be.
Self loving came from a unprecedented corner. Months ago, a taller stranger stood behind me and exclaimed quite loudly. 'your scars are beautiful!'. I turn around to source the voice. ' they're absolutely amazing ' *snap* he immediately takes a picture and shows it to me.  I gaze at the camera screen, completely bewildered. ' You shouldn't hide them, you know. Show them off more often '
What a strange piece of advice! Such peculiar compliments.  I stood there stammering and stuttering unable to decide if I should thank him or deem his as moronic.
Days go by, drenched in my heavy schedule with minimum time devoted to beauty rituals. The scars on my body are the last thing on my mind and in the past few months, I didn't do much to them either. If they were the last thing on my mind, then what does that mean? It really isn't that important.
Self acceptance had begun for me even before I realized it and I fully intend to keep it that way.
Our scars and imperfections are our character. It's what makes us different. They design us, define us, enhance us, complete us.
How can you get rid of something if it's such an integral part of you? The fact that we aren't so perfect is what makes us human.

So now if anyone has a problem with my flaws, it's going to be their problem. Not mine.

خُدا حافِظ