Topic of your choice:
Here's the funny thing about scars: they start as cuts or scrapes that eventually become scabs. When the scabs fall off, the skin is healed. However, while most cuts heal and vanish like fleeting ghosts, scars remain. I don't know why some injuries disappear while others turn into scars, permanently engraving themselves in the skin, but I get this feeling that scars are from the more important injuries and our bodies are telling us something when scars form. It's almost as if the scars are calling out to us, warning us against the foolish deeds that created them; scars serve as remembrances of our mistakes so that we may prevent making the same ones in the future.
I have a peculiar scar on my right calf: it's shaped like a circle, about the same size as my pupil. The scar arches out slightly, a lone hill among a barren landscape of skin. Its texture is bumpy-if you gloss your finger over it, you'll feel the subtle peaks and valleys. I don't quite remember how I received the scrape; I do recall, however, that as soon as the scab had formed, I became terribly interested in it. As a third grader, it is unimaginably difficult to leave such things alone. The scab looked and felt weird. So I kept touching it, and picking at it, hoping to remove the blemish from my immaculate skin. My mother told me not to mess with it: "If you leave it alone, the scab will eventually disappear by itself; however, if you keep picking at it, it'll leave a permanent mark on your skin," she informed me in an amused tone. At 9 years old, I couldn't make heads or tails of her advice, which seemed absurd. What kind of scab would fall off of its own accord? But my intuition told me she was right. After all, hadn't she always been? Yet I chose not to listen to her advice, thinking that I knew better. The result? The same scar that sits in the middle of my right calf today.
I must say, I'm incredibly proud of having a scar on my leg (I've heard that apparently, girls dig guys with scars). More importantly, this was the first moment in my life that I learned to keep an open mind-the first time I was exposed to the idea that our predispositions can affect our judgment. We can be so sure of ourselves and our beliefs at times that we automatically reject differing points of view, unwilling to listen to other equally valuable opinions.
Nietzche once said, "There is no immaculate perception." These days, before I participate in socratic seminars or take a position on an issue, I remind myself of my biases and preconceptions. Of course, there are times when I forget my scar and why I got it. But maybe sometimes biases aren't so bad; as I'm typing this, I have already developed one towards the University of Pennsylvania.
Thanks for the critique in advance and please be as critical as possible!! :)
Here's the funny thing about scars: they start as cuts or scrapes that eventually become scabs. When the scabs fall off, the skin is healed. However, while most cuts heal and vanish like fleeting ghosts, scars remain. I don't know why some injuries disappear while others turn into scars, permanently engraving themselves in the skin, but I get this feeling that scars are from the more important injuries and our bodies are telling us something when scars form. It's almost as if the scars are calling out to us, warning us against the foolish deeds that created them; scars serve as remembrances of our mistakes so that we may prevent making the same ones in the future.
I have a peculiar scar on my right calf: it's shaped like a circle, about the same size as my pupil. The scar arches out slightly, a lone hill among a barren landscape of skin. Its texture is bumpy-if you gloss your finger over it, you'll feel the subtle peaks and valleys. I don't quite remember how I received the scrape; I do recall, however, that as soon as the scab had formed, I became terribly interested in it. As a third grader, it is unimaginably difficult to leave such things alone. The scab looked and felt weird. So I kept touching it, and picking at it, hoping to remove the blemish from my immaculate skin. My mother told me not to mess with it: "If you leave it alone, the scab will eventually disappear by itself; however, if you keep picking at it, it'll leave a permanent mark on your skin," she informed me in an amused tone. At 9 years old, I couldn't make heads or tails of her advice, which seemed absurd. What kind of scab would fall off of its own accord? But my intuition told me she was right. After all, hadn't she always been? Yet I chose not to listen to her advice, thinking that I knew better. The result? The same scar that sits in the middle of my right calf today.
I must say, I'm incredibly proud of having a scar on my leg (I've heard that apparently, girls dig guys with scars). More importantly, this was the first moment in my life that I learned to keep an open mind-the first time I was exposed to the idea that our predispositions can affect our judgment. We can be so sure of ourselves and our beliefs at times that we automatically reject differing points of view, unwilling to listen to other equally valuable opinions.
Nietzche once said, "There is no immaculate perception." These days, before I participate in socratic seminars or take a position on an issue, I remind myself of my biases and preconceptions. Of course, there are times when I forget my scar and why I got it. But maybe sometimes biases aren't so bad; as I'm typing this, I have already developed one towards the University of Pennsylvania.
Thanks for the critique in advance and please be as critical as possible!! :)
