- Why are you doing #LoveMe?
- A photo of you
- A word that describes you
- A person who loves you
- A note to the past you
- A note to the future you
- One thing that’s just for you
- Share a scar
- Share something beautiful
- Share a secret
- Share a smile
- Share a flaw
- Share a quote
- Share a fear you overcame
- Something you have done right
- Something you like about yourself
- Something that feeds your soul
- Something that feeds your brain
- Something you feel strongly about
- Something you love to wear
- Something you are proud of
- What makes you unique?
- What is your best feature?
- What makes you happy?
- What makes you laugh?
- What makes you feel beautiful?
- What have you accepted about yourself?
- What have you learned from doing #LoveMe these past twenty-eight days?
I could completely cop out with this part of the challenge and show one, or all, of my tattoos. Since, technically, that’s what tattoos are.
Instead, I choose one of my actual scars. I do have a few, particularly from my younger years of being eaten alive by mosquitoes and being too young to understand why mum was telling me not to scratch. The scars I choose to talk about are on my left knee. And of course there’s a story to go with them.
In Year Ten, my friends and I played “social basketball” for sport; so-called because no one took it seriously, least of all the teachers. We’d been doing this for a few terms by this stage, but because we were seniors at this point we got relegated to the seniors’ court. It was basically a mosaic of concrete. I don’t think there was a smooth surface for more than a square half metre on that court. But we didn’t care. It was a fun few hours where we tossed a ball around, listened to music, and just hung out. Besides, nothing ever came of it. Except once.
We were split into our usual teams, and one of my friends and I were mucking around. My team was winning (I’m not 100% sure if this is true, but it makes narrative sense so I’m taking creative licence) and so my mate was trying to mess me up by pretending to trip me. A freak step caused by my innate clumsiness meant the he actually succeeded and I fell.
Ten years later…
I’ve never been very good with pain, but when it’s sudden like that I just start laughing. My mate was so unbelievably apologetic. He got the teachers involved and the rest of my mates ended up dropping whatever it was they were doing and helping me out. Of course, they were all teenaged boys so there was a fair bit of ribbing. But they ribbed me as they got my stuff, put my books in my bag, helped me up, and supported me all the way to sick bay. The mate who had accidentally tripped me did not leave my side. A bunch of them had other commitments so they made sure I got to the sick bay OK, and then scuttled off.
But, don’t worry, they messaged me on MSN later that night to make sure I was alright.
I chose to talk about this scar because, despite being permanently marred and being in excruciating pain for a week because the scabs kept getting torn open, this was one of the best examples of friendship that I know.
Fast forward to 2017 and I don’t actually speak to any of those young men anymore. We drifted apart, which is one of the side effects of growing up, unfortunately. But I will never forget the kindness that they showed me that day.
My Infernal Imagination 
