Twinkle Twinkle little Scar
How I wonder what you are—a reminisce of the past or a prophecy of the future?
Whispers of every battle we fought linger through the marks etched upon us—on our flesh, on our soul—testaments to our survival and the moments that shaped us into who we are today. Beneath these marks lie intense tales of bravery, courage, and determination to move forward. They are not just reminders of pain but proof of resilience, silent storytellers of the times we thought we couldn’t make it but did anyway. The perplexity of these unspoken legends unravels through the eyes, visible only to those willing to be left stranded and immersed in our existence—exploring their depths, where maps of territories explored in solitude lie. In these scars lies not just the echo of battles won and lost but the blueprint of a journey that continues to unfold.
Our eyes—complex mirrors of consciousness—reveal what our lips dare not speak. Their worries surface in the slight hesitation before trust, in the careful way we guard our hearts, and in the measured steps we take toward love or friendship. Like ancient cartographers, we chart these experiences in our gut—that mysterious compass that remembers what the mind strives to forget, guiding with the prophecies of the paths yet to unfold.
If we’re being honest, life feels like one big experiment sometimes, doesn’t it? One moment, you think you’ve got it all figured out, and the next, you’re standing in the middle of your room at 2 a.m., wondering if you really need to send that “perfectly crafted” text or just let it go. We stumble, we overthink, we panic—only to look back later and realize that it all taught us something. Like that one time you trusted your gut about avoiding a sketchy situation or when you didn’t trust it and ended up learning a lesson the hard way. It’s funny how the universe works: even our missteps end up becoming part of the playbook we call life.
It has been eighteen years of feeling like a guest in a life that doesn’t entirely feel like mine—a life where others seem to shape and validate my existence more than I do myself. Who am I? What really makes me, me? These are questions I’m still figuring out, bit by bit. And you know what? That’s okay. The progress has been slow but steady, like climbing a hill with plenty of detours. Even the lowest moments—those frustrating setbacks—aren’t as bad as they seem. They’re just steps backward, setting the stage for something bigger. Every stumble, every misstep, leaves us with something to carry forward—an experience, a lesson, a story. Failure isn’t the finale; it’s the buildup to something worth celebrating.
Yes, it might sound cliché, and it’s up to you to believe me or not. But consider this: without failed experiments, would scientists ever achieve breakthroughs? What we live through—whether good or bad—shapes our instincts and sharpens our senses. It is only because we experience sadness that we truly appreciate happiness.
This connection between our experiences and our instincts brings me to something often dismissed as an abstract notion. The gut feeling, our body’s oldest advisor, is a blend of every scar, every tear, and every triumph we’ve encountered along the way. It speaks in a language older than words, drawing on the wisdom of our most intimate victories and deepest disappointments. This internal guidance system, fine-tuned by failure and validated by resilience, becomes our most trusted confidant as we navigate life’s ambiguous terrains.
Through this journey, we come to understand the most crucial lesson: self-reliance. Not the brittle independence that refuses help, but the grounded confidence that comes from knowing your own depths and trusting your intuition. Every mark, whether visible on skin or etched in the soul, serves as both wound and wisdom, weakness and weapon, shaping the foundation of who we are.
Our unsaid battles—those private wars fought in the shadows of doubt and fear—forge this self-reliance in their fires. Each silent victory, each solitary defeat, adds an additional layer to our internal armor. This armor isn’t meant to shut the world out but to allow us to engage with it on our own terms, fortified by the strength of our experiences.
Some marks fade with time, while others remain as permanent reminders of the roads we’ve traveled or the roads not taken. Yet all of them, whether engraved into our flesh or written into the core of our being, form the intricate geography of our identity. In the end, each scar twinkles like a star in a constellation of experiences guiding us forward—illuminating not just where we’ve been but also where we have the strength and courage to go.
And so we know…
Twinkle Twinkle little Scar,
you’ve felt and you’ve seen far,
you’re the shadow of a past,
with lessons that are meant to last.
Your marks now guide the way
to brighter paths and happier days.
By Zumar Abdul Ghaffar
Writer (Team 2024 – 2025)