Stories

"Everything is text. Everything has a story."

My mentor from undergrad told me that and that has always stuck with me.

Even for the few that do recognize this truth, how rare is it to find in that already small population, those who apply that knowledge to their body.

Every body has a story. Every part of the body has its own story as well. Those two, small, barely noticable discolorations on my left forearm? Those came from paintballing, when two Texans with their rifles surrounded me during a good friend's bachelor party. The chip on my front, right incisor came from being thrown over a fence in 6th grade. But there are more stories than just these tiny anecdotes.

My entire body tells a greater tale. My stature, 6' tall, broad shoulders, naturally pale skin say that I'm not a thorough-bred Cantonese boy. My paternal grandparents came from the North of China where they grow their boys country-big. My father, unfortunately, missed out on this genetic handout and looks like the more typically squat and swarthy farmer. Physically, I'm not particularly Chinese-looking until I wear sandals and show my elongated second toe, a trademark of the Han Chinese. I am a mixture. I am a story with a thousand beginnings, a million origins.

I am a story that crosses continents, lives, deaths, cultures, boundaries.

My story isn't particularly special or unique. Others have stories. They too have a thousand, ten-thousand beginnings and a million, a billion origins.

You can say that my story began as a faint, beating hope in my father's heart as he swam across the sea to Hong Kong, some of his family dying that night. Or you can say that I began as a fancy, a daydream in my mother's mind when that scruffy food-worker scribbled a poem to her on a greasy napkin. Or perhaps from before the beginning of time, from before spermatazoa, gonadotropins, nucleic acids, and life itself I began as a thought in the mind of game, an image from beyond eternity, one on whom the Almighty, the Infinite has set his heart and affection.

I'm not special. I just see things this way. In sharing this story, I had no real desire for anything other than to interact with the 2 or 3 people that do frequent this blog. Bodies are just one set of stories, but I like them because every change is recorded. Even attempts to mis-direct or mis-lead are part of the story. You can't delete or edit the story. It's a record of the soul itself.

I don't make any exceptions for those born with diseases, blind, lame, mute or those who have had amputations. The body's record then shows the person's true character better than my body does. My body has only battled against it's own soul, to try to forge itself. A person who has had an amputation or a disease, their body shows their grit, their courage, their true character. These are precious lifeboats of human history.

I have no idea what possessed me to write this entry this morning.