Philosophy Of Life, The christian life

Clothes For My Pimples

Photo by Justin Veenema. Source: unsplash.com

Treat it for what it is. A minute real estate on your face with very little resale value for the next few weeks.

Why do we wear clothes?

Go ahead and google it. It’s amusing to see how the web manages to give relevant answers to questions like these.

We wear clothes for protection, for decoration and mostly to keep what’s private, private.

When Adam and Eve ate from the forbidden fruit. they lost the glory of God that clothed them and they clothed themselves with leaves.

I sometimes wish I had clothes for other stuff. Like pimples and scars.

My skin has a thing for pimples. Despite my mother’s incessant instructions not to pop them, I still used do it. And because of that I had trouble walking with my head held up high. People sometimes don’t see how much pimples can affect someone. It was torture for me. My face used to shrink to the size of a small spot. Metaphorically, of course.

Here I was, a teenage kid with a lot of potential. I had everything going for me. I mean, I did struggle a bit during high school with academics (regardless of which I ended up at my dream university). But other than that, I was doing great. I loved meeting people and having a good conversation. The only thing that kept me from enjoying every single minute of my day most days was the number of pimples on my face. That’s sad.

You do get better at living with your pimples. It gets easier. But I didn’t want to live with them. If I was not responsible for them and they were going to be a part of my life regardless, I could not afford them becoming even the slightest of my worries.

I learnt, though at a very slow pace, that nobody actually cared about my pimples. At least not as much as I thought they did. I also learnt that sometimes not every part of who you are will serve your confidence and that you have to choose what to focus on.

Me being a born-again Christian, realised that it is in God that my value is found. It is his glory that now clothed me and made me who I was. That realisation helped me a lot.

You, dear reader, have to realise that I am talking about a problem that is nothing compared to the millions of problems that are out there. But it definitely is one. Which is why I thought I should talk about how hurtful it could be when you stare at somebody’s pimple or even point it out in public. Even when it seems like it’s no big deal.

Before I go, to all my friends with pimples: Really, it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry too much. Treat it for what it is. A minute real estate on your face with very little resale value for the next few weeks. If you really want to make a mountain out of it, call them volcanoes of purity or call yourself pompously pimplified. I hope that was not gross.

Anyway, if you’ve actually read till here, you deserve an award. Please claim my respect by saying a hi in the comments. Joking. You don’t have to do that. I love you all nevertheless.

Have a blast just existing!

Life in itself, Philosophy Of Life

Nostalgia

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Books are like machines. Your hands are like oil to its cogs, keeping them alive and working in your mind. – Stefan 🙂

The paint brush shakes in my hand as I try to make a delicate stroke. I hear the alarm, it’s 6.00 a.m. I flinch, the paint at the end of my brush seems to explode and fall onto the paper below me. The sun seems to peep over the horizon, it’s rays changing the colour of the unfinished piece of art. I smile. Another night. It’s not like I’ve always loved working in the peace of the night, but as of late, I’ve been enjoying one specific part, always watching the sunrise and never missing it.

I sigh, put my head back and close my eyes, sinking into my chair, just enjoying the moment. I open them and look at the slow swish of the blades of the fan, cutting the deep yellow rays of the morning sun. I sit up and look around on my desk. It’s a mess. My eyes drift to the stack of books on my desk.

I feel sad.

From when I was a child, books have been my friends. Being shy, I never had many friends and so, I always had a lot of time on my hands. With no TV to stare at and no video games in my reach, I would turn to books, with an excitement that is amazing, even to think about.

As time passed, I found more and more things to occupy my time with. A 30 year old guitar lying around the house was a turning point in my life. I took it in my hands, and I could feel it, the indefinite potential and the promise of great joy. So I spent every minute I had with it. My dislike for musical notations and my desperation to learn, somehow taught me to learn the guitar without them and I embarked on a new journey, but in taking that turn, I forgot all about books, I forgot about the wave of energy and excitement that flooded me when I saw a new book. The sound of music somehow replaced it, but it never completely filled it, because the excitement was different, the experiences unique on their own accord.

Time passed and I started exploring my childhood love to draw and paint. My endeavors on the blank paper took the time that my musical explorations left behind. Again, my books were left behind, and they mournfully looked on from the shelf, where dust settled on them as the clock ticked on, increasing my guilt. But I ignored it, justifying it as the unavoidable result of my development into an all-rounder, something I’ve always worked towards.

Time passed on…………

Then came into my life a new challenge. Long gone were the days when I could play music and live life easy and get an A on all my papers studying overnight. My backpack got heavier each year and the assignments piled up, taking what little vestige of time I had left.

The dust settled inching it’s way into another millimeter every year, camouflaging my once beloved friends, blending them with the furniture and what else there was that never moved.

Now here I am. School’s over and my guitar sits in it’s case. My paint sits safe in the back of my drawer. They are still alive in my life however, adding perspective and colour to everything I do. But they don’t take up much of the clock. Not like they used to.

I wonder what I could do to use my time well………

I get up from my chair and move over to my books. I take one and wipe the dust from it’s cover.

Nostalgia! That must be how I can best describe it. A longing for a time past, an excitement that took me through at least five books a week.
I look at the book with love. I open it. Then I look at my bed. I should probably sleep. The book looks at me. It somehow seems to understand. ‘No Worries’ seems to hang out from it like a placard.
Not this time, I say. Not this time.
I sit down once again, this time with a book in my hand.

Have you ever felt like I did? Do you have a hobby you lost in time?

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God bless! 😊