The Scars

"Will you be fine now? Do you want me to stay?" She slowly unwrapped her arms from around her little brother as he gave her a nod as an answer. "But this hurts, I just realised." He said, with a short shy and guilty glance at his hand. "Of course it does. I will go get some ointment, you stay here." With that, she left the room, taking just one more glance at his arm. Some old and some new, there was hardly any part of the skin on his left forearm and palm not carrying the burden of any scars or cuts.

Scars, she had known them too well for too long. She could tell by looking at a scar how much a person had suffered. She could tell which scars were from self-harm and which from suicidal attempts. The numerous, shallow, scary to look at, those ones were from "self-harm". Usually done when a person loathed himself so much that he would want to cause pain, see himself suffering, and fill himself up with physical pain enough to overwrite the actual pain that was bothering him. Those were the ones on her brother's skin. The other one, usually a deep single cut was when a person wanted to end all pain, by killing oneself. When a person was pushed to a point in life that death seemed easier.  That one scar was hard to find, as the people with those were hardly alive. Smarika was no forensic expert, but she knew scars well. She shifted her watch a little bit in her wrist to take a look at a big, now fading mark. She had one right there.

Shuffling the items in the drawer and the thoughts in her mind, she finally found the ointment. She rushed to her brother and asked him to give her his hand. He was shy, some from what he had done and some from what he had said. He had told her his secrets, his insecurities, his pains. He had told her how hurt he was when his parents had told him they wish he wasn't born just because he failed another exam. He had told her how he was bullied in his class just because he was neither a brilliant student nor a handsome notorius guy. He had exposed his scars, and told her how he got into cutting himself everytime someone made him feel he was someone different, or less worthy. He had also told her how he would always feel like telling someone what he was going through, but never could, because he was afraid of being laughed at, called weak and told that guys should be stronger than that. Looking at her little brother, always a little one for her, trying to hide the pain in his face as she rubbed the ointment on his wounds, she wondered. She wondered, what made a teenager do this to himself, and what made him think he should not express or cry out what bothers him, just because he was a boy? 

"Just a little more. I know it burns but you're brave, right?" 

"Am I, di? After all this?" He looked at her in astonishment. After exposing all the weak sides of him, how could his sister still think he was brave? Or was she being sarcastic?

"Yes you are", she insisted. "You just don't know it yet!"

She meant what she said. Recently there had been a lot of news about people letting go of their lives. Famous people, normal people, young people, all in the headlines because they killed themselves. The world had varieities of reactions to that, some would grieve, some would wonder what made them do so, whereas some would call them cowards. Yes, cowards because they chose to run away from their problems instead of facing them. However true that was, deep down she knew that they had a bit of courage. It takes courage to cause pain to oneself, to kill oneself, to take the one last push after which you know you wouldnt see another day. Knowing you wont be there to do anything you dreamt of, to see anyone you love. It must take courage to do something you know is about to erase your existence.

However, though it takes courage to kill oneself, it takes even more courage not to. One must be brave to endure the loss, to face the consequences, to either live with it or fight it. 5 years back, with the knife in her hand, she had the chance to make a choice. She chose to live. When she looked at her life now, she felt glad she made that choice. She was now fulfilling her dreams, being loved and admired by people, and living a life that made her happy. All that because she chose to fight, to face all the hatred, guilt and shame. The path was rough but she was glad she made it to the other side. These days, the mark on her hand was fading away and so were the things that once worried her so much.  After all, how long could bad days last? 

"Di, I think I should get some sleep now. Please dont tell mom and dad what I did. They would end up feeling more ashamed of me if they know."

"Come on, dont take that seriously. They even told me that once, do you think they feel the same now?"

He looked at her in surprise. Her elder sister, the perfect child, the kind, talented and successful one in the family. It was hard to believe they would have ever said that to her too.

"I know what you're thinking. There was a time in my life when they said in anger that they wished I was dead instead. But I didnt make it happen, I proved them wrong. You will too, if you try. Just dont give up this soon."

He nodded innocently in return.

It was a really small piece of advice compared to what one would give to a teenager harming himself. Instead, she could have just told him how she had onfe tried to kill herself because she had fallen into a trap and people had been making her sleep with them by constant blackmailing, and how she thought death was an easy escape. She could have told him how as the knife kept piercing her she lost all her strength and couldnt go any deeper. She could have narrated how she didnot have the courage to cut deeper, so she called a friend and cried, and how she was calmed down by the friend. She could have explained to him her journey from being called a characterless, an unworthy person to what she was now. She could have boasted how brave she had been and told him he should be too, that his problems were nothing compared to hers. But she didn't. She had learnt over the years that comparing problems was only an idea. In the real world, a man always thinks his own problems are the greatest. You cannot take a man with one leg and show him someone with none, and expect him to feel happy about his condition. One can only see his own problems and he is the one who has to solve them.

She was ready to leave the room. One might say it was careless to leave someone in that condition, without guarding and supervising him, or giving him life lessons. She knew her brother would be fine without any of that, all he needed was an ear. Sometimes all a person needs is someone to listen to their problems and not judge them in return. Had the friend not listened to her at that crucial moment, the world might have been different to her today, or even non-existent. She looked at her brother and knew she had been to him today what the friend had been to her 5 years back. As much as she wanted to punch every person who had bothered him, she knew he had to fight his own battles. If he were strong enough to create those scars then he should be able to create a better life too. She looked at his face and could she it was calm and relieved. All he needed was some sleep now, he would be fine, and she would be by his side like she had been by her own all these years.

"Go get some sleep now. And yes, next time you ever think of doing something like this, please remember your elder sister sooner than you remember the knife."

"Di" he stopped her before she set her foot out "I cant promise but I will make sure there won't be a next time"

They both smiled.