Story Lines

4 weeks in China and no blogging. Sorry. Lots of excuses, but we won’t go into detail. I do plan to make it up and dedicate the next 4 entries to China. They won’t be in Chinese, but let’s just say that the tears and laughter from China still won’t let up.

There’s a song by Brandi Carlisle that goes,
“All of these lines across my face

Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am…”
I love the song, but the more I think about it, the less I can relate. “Lines across my face”? What lines? You mean that scar from where the plastic surgeon removed a mole? The black line that rims my eye? In the modern, western world, we don’t know what lines are. We think we do; but we don’t. When we see a line, a spot, a crease, or a splotch we are lightening quick to MAC, Estée Lauder, and Cover Girl it away (what’s your pleasure)? And if we have the time and the money, we’ll go one step further and zap, peel, plump, and laser anything that remotely represents…should I say, LIFE? I have 10 year old scars on my shoulder and leg from a battle I lost with the reef, and multiple burn marks on my arms from oil splashes while standing over a hot stove. I got cortisone injections at a plastic surgeon’s office for the scars, and put Vitamin E oil on the burns. What am I trying to hide? They are a part of my story.

Of course if you want real story lines, go to China where face after face has been brushed with scars and crevices. In fact, go anywhere outside of North America and Western Europe and you’ll see lines that will have you wondering, “If those lines could talk…” So deep…so many. Was is war? 40 years of working in the field? Hot blazing sun in the summer and bone-chilling frost in the winter? Financial worries? Political, religious, and social oppression? Violence? They are etched in my mind…

I can’t help but compare my face to theirs; ethnically the same, but vastly different. Of course, I spent 15 minutes putting on my make-up this morning and last night I did a 20-minute clay mask to pull all the impurities from my face. It burned like hell but beauty is pain, right? Or is it? What if beauty hides the pain? The real pain isn’t the chemical peel. The real pain comes from the events that cause the lines and the mortification we may experience should anyone figure out the truth. Worry, hurt, sadness, disadvantage, anger, resentment, regret, bitterness, deceit, selfishness, discomfort, sorrow, pain…we cover it up because no one likes to air their dirty laundry (or wear it on their face), and the painful TRUTH is often much less tolerable than the pain caused by waxing.

China was a breath of fresh air because no one hid (and the ones that did were just as disillusioned as us Americans). Every line, every wrinkle and scar, were testaments to their life. Their faces were rich with character and experience, and the deeper their lines, the more stories they probably could tell. I don’t claim to know how they lived, and if was a hard life (which I assume it was) or a walk in the park (which I assume it was not); either way, the lines were witnesses- furrowed brows, laugh lines, and all. And when I looked at their faces and deep into their eyes I saw them, beautifully and wonderfully made; every line crafted to perfection. There wasn’t a wrinkle out of place. Do you have a story to tell? Because from the looks of it- behind your botox, pressed powder, liquid eyeliner, and all-day lip color- I can’t tell if you’re always happy to see me, or if your eyebrows are just shaped that way. FYI, my eyebrows are just shaped that way.