In one of my favorite books, Looking For Alaska, John Green once said that we, humans, “can never be irreparably broken”. I wouldn't doubt that.
You see, not only does our body create, it recreates, too. I accidentally cut my finger the other day and it bled a hell lot. As the blood gushed out from the tiny veins, I took a close look at the spot where the wound was - as though an explorer who had just made a huge discovery. It was bleeding, for sure, but as well as the running crimson dripped from my injury, it was regenerating matters to block the wound. I'd had biology lessons alright, those are what scientists called “blood platelets”, yet it always startles me to watch how my own body recreates bits and pieces to keep the whole functioning. Be it a micro-mini part, the body never forgets to save itself.
I used to be a broken thing. I prefer calling the broken self a “thing” because it had been torn and ripped apart, crumbled into dust and blown scatteredly into the cold breeze of early Winter; then out of nowhere, the sprinkles of the broken thing somehow just merged with different objects that they collided into along the way. I wasn't quite sure what they had become after that, so I've decided to call it a thing.
So this broken thing that I had been, it would have made me the wealthiest thing on the face of this planet if I were to be broadcasted on the guinnest world record. Have you ever been hit by a trauma? Well, intensify it by a million times, then multiply it again by ten, it was the unit and times of trauma my body and my mind had taken. The broken thing became a walking corpse: a living dead with a rotten soul; with eyes that could not see, ears that could not hear, a nose that could not smell, hands that could not touch and a heart that could not feel.
Remember the thing I've told you about our body recreating itself to regenerate power and to function again? You've probably missed that part but don't worry child, you are about to be captivated by a magic that truly exists, in fact, right inside of us.
Just when I was about to be drained dry by the breathless days and restless nights, my antidote arrived. The thing we named Hope, it had been living in me all this time. I felt my entire body regenerating itself by the power of hope, it was magical but real. He promised me “forever” and it was a slight hope that rescued my sorryass. Screw the future, so what if “forever” was a lie? As long as there was a reason, I could be saved, no matter true or false, my instinct told me to cling on to it.
It was of no pretence, even though I knew forever would hardly ever be true, there was a tiny space in me that had been created to store the spark of hope. We, humans, have the instinct to look up to hope - let alone false hope - our mind makes us believe in it until we have been restored again from the brokenness that almost killed us. Like blocking the blood from the cut on my finger, the blood platelets were for temporary regeneration, still, they managed to stop the bleeding until new tissues formed.
So child, if you think you're invincible then you're damn right. You ought not to fear bending and breaking - you will always be okay. You will never be irreparably broken because you yourselves are your remedy, your cure, your antidote. You are your own savior.
