My right knee consists of two noticeable scars. Each have a story behind them, but only one I can vividly remember. I will not attempt to subject you to this particular memory because in all honesty, it's something that I don't wish to share. It's a flashback that doesn't need more light or attention. It is, however, the truth. Rape, regardless of its filth, shame and humiliation, is disturbingly truthful.
Edipus was born from that one peculiar scar. It's the tiny-big reminder of where I've come from and how I got over. Dwelling on the memory or staring at the healed tissue is not an option, but on those days when I do happen to notice I feel strangely proud of what looks back at me. I feel like a soldier who's survived the war.
I don't claim to know what my purpose is on this earth. I'm not one of those people who believe that they've gotten it all figured out and has now decided to share it with the others. No, I am a simple human being that knows nothing but wants to do something. By broadcasting the most infuriating and frustrating moments of this thing called Life, I feel a little more human and a little less alone. And when those feelings start to form and mesh together, my scars don't look so bad. In fact, they shine like badges of honor.
As always....
Be brave. Be Edipus.
www.edipus.org
