THE WORLD I COME FROM
'A man finds room in the few square inches of the face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the
expression of all his history, and his wants'. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
The joy of finding a familiar face in a crowd of unknown faces is hard to explain. Indeed,
every face is a canvas of varying emotions, a fascinating blend of varying genetics and colours
but most of all it is every man's individual identity. The very fact that there are over a billion
variations in faces around the globe intrigues me.
I aptly agree with Cynthia Ozick when she says 'After a certain number of years, our faces
become our biographies' As I grew older, every new face I would see would make me imagine
that person's life and I would spin a whole story about them in my mind.
One of my most favourite face, the first memories I have since opening my eyes has been of
Nazima - my nanny. Nazima with her telling soft eyes and her smooth skin, what intrigued me
the most about her was the way she carried her face. There was a blend of wisdom and grace
that came with time and experience, which merged beautifully with the softness of her telling
eyes.
However one late night I was woken by wails and cries. Someone was shouting call an
ambulance! The wails were horrifying but what was worse- the wails were of Nazima and they
pierced my heart! All I could see standing next to my mother was Nazima shaking violently
and a shawl covering her face. I did not understand at that time that the face that I so loved, the
face that traced my childhood memories was lost - forever. Her husband had thrown acid on it
during a domestic argument. The days that followed were life changing for me. I knew nothing
would be same anymore. I did not just lose the face I loved. I lost Nazima- the biography!
For weeks it was just conversations to a bandaged face, The only thing familiar was her voice.
Like everyone around her I was trying to find her old, 'familiar' face beneath the facial and burn
treatments she was receiving. I kept reassuring myself it will be okay- but the little voice inside
said it will never be okay! And it will never be easy getting familiar with a new face with an old
identity.
When Nazima recovered after agonizing months of face and skin treatments, the harrowing
truth of the trauma was smeared across her face. One of her eyes was completely lost the
other a haunted orb reflecting the frozen horror of that night. The left cheek was completely
shrivelled. The nose was half gone.
Nazima lost her face, but made me want to pursue a career that allowed me to restore faces
distorted by cruelty. I want to carve out the same, familiar lines on faces I had grown wondering
about. Every line, every wrinkle, every mark on the face has a story- the very essence of the
person's identity. All I want to do is to restore them for those who lost them forever. Help them
re write a page in their individual biographies. That day I decided to persue medicine & become
a cosmetic surgeon.
Please give critique guys. Highlight all the problems please :)
'A man finds room in the few square inches of the face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the
expression of all his history, and his wants'. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
The joy of finding a familiar face in a crowd of unknown faces is hard to explain. Indeed,
every face is a canvas of varying emotions, a fascinating blend of varying genetics and colours
but most of all it is every man's individual identity. The very fact that there are over a billion
variations in faces around the globe intrigues me.
I aptly agree with Cynthia Ozick when she says 'After a certain number of years, our faces
become our biographies' As I grew older, every new face I would see would make me imagine
that person's life and I would spin a whole story about them in my mind.
One of my most favourite face, the first memories I have since opening my eyes has been of
Nazima - my nanny. Nazima with her telling soft eyes and her smooth skin, what intrigued me
the most about her was the way she carried her face. There was a blend of wisdom and grace
that came with time and experience, which merged beautifully with the softness of her telling
eyes.
However one late night I was woken by wails and cries. Someone was shouting call an
ambulance! The wails were horrifying but what was worse- the wails were of Nazima and they
pierced my heart! All I could see standing next to my mother was Nazima shaking violently
and a shawl covering her face. I did not understand at that time that the face that I so loved, the
face that traced my childhood memories was lost - forever. Her husband had thrown acid on it
during a domestic argument. The days that followed were life changing for me. I knew nothing
would be same anymore. I did not just lose the face I loved. I lost Nazima- the biography!
For weeks it was just conversations to a bandaged face, The only thing familiar was her voice.
Like everyone around her I was trying to find her old, 'familiar' face beneath the facial and burn
treatments she was receiving. I kept reassuring myself it will be okay- but the little voice inside
said it will never be okay! And it will never be easy getting familiar with a new face with an old
identity.
When Nazima recovered after agonizing months of face and skin treatments, the harrowing
truth of the trauma was smeared across her face. One of her eyes was completely lost the
other a haunted orb reflecting the frozen horror of that night. The left cheek was completely
shrivelled. The nose was half gone.
Nazima lost her face, but made me want to pursue a career that allowed me to restore faces
distorted by cruelty. I want to carve out the same, familiar lines on faces I had grown wondering
about. Every line, every wrinkle, every mark on the face has a story- the very essence of the
person's identity. All I want to do is to restore them for those who lost them forever. Help them
re write a page in their individual biographies. That day I decided to persue medicine & become
a cosmetic surgeon.
Please give critique guys. Highlight all the problems please :)