I am my hands

I am my hands. As I gaze upon these two vital parts of my body whose importance and valuable assistance in my daily life I often give for granted, I contemplate the overwhelming and numerous thoughts that seem to emerge as I keep looking at them.

I can almost tell my whole life’s story just by looking at them. Starting from my long and hairy-knuckled (which I’m honestly not very proud of) fingers; one of them in which lies the precious gold and black ring that my mother bestowed onto me about a year ago. There’s also that temporary tattoo of little yellow and silver stars that I had decided to place on the back of my hand a few days before Halloween; as well as the small scar that I have from the bottom of my left hand to my wrist, which was created about five years ago after a rather rough yet playful physical fight I had with my brother Kevin.

On my nails, I can clearly see the blue, red and white polish that decorates them, which brings back memories of United Nations day at our school—a day in which I had decided to represent my proud Cuban culture by painting my nails the colors of my country’s flag.

Looking closely at the skin that softly wraps the bones and muscles that lie attached to my arm, which has little to no wrinkles and tons of markings from different colored pens and makeup, indicating my lack of intense physical work with them, but also the fact that I am a passionate writer (to the point that I get random lines and dots of pens all over my skin) and a person that has insecurities and likes to hide them by wearing makeup, yet I’m still careless about my hands’ appearance.

Every crevice, wrinkle, mole–all of it–marks a story and thus an important moment and memory from my life.

My hands are an open book from which you can read me.

My hands have traveled with me from the hospital in which I was born, to the crowded and familiar streets of Cuba, to the beautiful beaches of Mexico, to the amazing and nostalgic Disney themed parks in Orlando, to the populated and diverse restaurants in Barcelona. And I would not have it any other way.


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